Snowfall
by Murron
Summary: Back from his journey to Alkali Lake, Logan has to face an unexpected change and well known adversaries who search for cunning revenge. A R/L fic.
1. Snowfall (1)

Snowfall

by Murron

__

Dedicated to Ellen

When the past is gone from us life is nothing

but a question what lies behind.

Maybe there was love at some time.

More likely there was pain. Soreness. 

Suffering.

Can't we remember?

Or don't we want to?

Is there any difference...?

Prologue

Silence. No disturbing sounds to break the spell of a nature untouched by all human influence. The trees reached higher up here. Everything seemed clearer, taller and awe-inspiring. Unreal, somehow. Even the light seemed unnatural, its whiteness reflected by the fields of snow covering the landscape. 

He knelt down and the snow crunched slightly under his movement. His gaze flickered from one side to the other, fully aware of his surroundings. The spirit of this place had its own effect on him. He sensed anxiety mixing up the tumult within him, but at the same time he felt strangely calm. It was the special momentum of getting near the end of a long quest without knowing what this ending would finally be like. Would there be disappointment or the fulfillment of all yearning standing at the end of the line? Behind those rows of ancient firs lay the military compound the professor had told him about. An existing link to his past could be only an instant away from him. 

It was illogical – he had waited for what felt like an eternity for a chance like this. And now he felt the subtle urge to turn and get as much distance as possible between him and this place. 

//Weird. Don't be such a coward// 

Coldness crept under his collar and reached for his skin with testing, greedy fingers. The air was thinner up here, of a more transparent texture and somehow contained a pureness that all the other places near human roads lacked. The creatures in this corner of the world had existed long since in perfect concord. Living and dying, caring neither for fear nor passion. It was both peaceful and cruel. Men usually found words beyond the simplicity of the natural cycles. They'd gone for a desperate dash on 'the meaning of life itself'. Called it predetermination. Named it destiny. He closed his eyes for a moment to compose himself. As for him, fate used to be something he didn't ponder about. He couldn't really say if he believed in it and as a matter of fact, he didn't care at all. In his opinion, life was all about making decisions. Which road you drove on, which drink you ordered and which bed you chose to sleep in. If you dared look at what you had been chasing through a hundred nightmares or if you just trudged away. It would have been so simple to pick the latter.. 

//No// he thought to himself. No, not this time. For too many painful years had he been on a journey, always unsure if he was chasing or running from his past. Now he would face it, might the answers cause relief or destruction. He stretched one hand out to the white ground before him. His fingers reached the snow blanket, touched and it felt cold - 

pt.1

January 10th

- dreadfully cold. Rogue enclosed the dog tags with her fingers, the metal feeling unfamiliarly cool against her warm skin. She sat with her back against a window frame in one of the mansion's common rooms. Warm light spread from several lamps and the soft ticking of a clock sounded from the mantelpiece. It was a good moment, one that soothed all the trouble a youngster had to cope with throughout the so called daily life. It is precious to know that when you're hungering for silence in a world twisting much too fast, there would always be such calm and peaceful evenings. 

The young woman drew her legs closer up to her body for a more comfortable position while she peered outside. Snow had been falling since the early morning and it had painted the woods and parks around the mansion perfectly white. It was the most beautiful winter for years, everyone had told her so. They must have been right, for Rogue had never seen anything more peaceful – or even more marvelous - than a whole world covered in snow. The winter's night showed her both a mysterious and a harmonious sight. One could watch the tall figures of the parks' trees through the curtain of slowly falling snowflakes, which settled on the ground almost lazily. Rogue lifted her hand to the pane and traced the slow fall of a single snowflake with her finger, followed it until it went out of sight.

The warmth of the room felt incredibly good to her body, she scarcely noticed her thoughts drifting away. Bitter-sweet melancholy stirred along with that cuddly feeling and made her snuggle even closer to the frame. Rogue blinked drowsily. She was grateful that no other person was around to disturb this silent harmony she had built; grateful that it was a calm moment that belonged just to her own. Despite all the kindness in the young mutants' community, Rogue now and then needed some time to deal with no one but herself. To take stock of her former and current life, maybe. She had got used to this 'ritual' since her first days as a part of the academy, just after Logan had left. 

The thin necklace slid out of her hand as she thoughtfully played with the little piece of metal on which _his_ name was printed.

//Been half a year since he'd left//, she thought absently, leaning her forehead lightly against the pane. Gone as sudden as he had stepped into her life. Throughout the last months she had continued talking herself into believing that if she'd gotten along before she met him, she would also be okay after his disappearance. Sometimes this theory worked. But she also had to admit it wasn't that easy. During those months the fact he had left an empty space within her had become undeniable and Rogue also knew that this emptiness would only be filled by his return. She looked forward to that day. What else could she do?

A noise from the doorway caused Rogue to look up. A single figure leaned in the doorway and soft light eyes settled on Rogue with a slightly worried expression. Reflections of honey – colored light danced idly on the filigree glasses which adorned the even face. It was Dr. Jean Grey. 

Without further notice Rogue turned back to the window. She was in no mood for any talking, especially with a teacher. The cozy sadness, which the wintry evening had brought on, was nothing she wanted to share. Nor did she want it to be eased by anyone. Not yet.

Her gesture could hardly be misunderstood - it should be obvious that Rogue wanted to be alone. 

"Am I disturbing you?" Jean asked politely. 

"Just enjoying the view." Rogue hoped that the doctor would at least now turn and leave. But instead of accepting her pupil's mood, Dr. Grey shortened the distance between them and perched on a chair. Rogue saw Jean's reflection appear on the pane while she inconspicuously let the tags slip into her right hand. 

"A cold night, huh?" Jean began. Annoyance surged up within Rogue and made her frown. Not only did the doctor ignore her wish for peace and quiet, this looked very much like becoming a typical "elder to youngster" conversation. Now, how she enjoyed that...

Rogue decided not to answer for the moment. The uncomfortable silence between the two women was not in the least like the quiet atmosphere that had filled the room a few minutes ago. 

"It's a good night for meditating over your thoughts, " Jean finally said. She folded her slender hands in her lap and followed Rogue's glance outside. "I often take some time for such silent moments myself. They help to sort things out, don't they?"

"Sometimes..." Rogue agreed. //Just go away// 

"I hope you don't take my interruption amiss," Jean said seriously after a little pause, "but you looked so lonely sitting around here and I thought I might be able to give some comfort. "

Rogue shot her a quick glance before she lowered her eyes, a resigning sigh on her lips. The doctor meant no harm, she knew, and Rogue was well-mannered enough to not just snap at someone who at least intended to be friendly. "It's all right," she answered and turned towards the doctor., "I'm okay." The true sorrow in Dr. Grey's eyes placated her in a way and made her give in. There was little else she could have done, anyway. "Really, I am." Rogue said softly, "I was just in the mood for brooding. I get those moments - from time to time, you know."

The older woman smiled, amused. "I would be really worried if you didn't," Jean said, "No one can be cheery all the time." Visibly relaxed, she took off her glasses and elegantly crossed her legs. It all resembled the idle talk of two good friends. 

Rogue's knuckles touched the cool pane as she laid the back of her hand against the glass. Her gaze was drawn back to the darkness outside as the doctor's kind voice secretly stirred deep feelings inside her. Maybe it was the whole atmosphere of the evening that eased the walls the girl had built tight around her.

All would have been easier if Rogue was another person. But as things were, the girl wasn't exactly open with the emotions that troubled her. She had learned to be that way, because when she had tried to show her feelings in the past the ones she loved had been hurt. It probably wasn't the best solution, but it had been inevitable. Who could she talk to anyway? It wasn't just her power that troubled her, there were so many other things in a young person's life that were difficult to overcome. But talking to someone about those intimate things meant to be close, in a way. How could she achieve closeness if the people who knew her always were afraid of her? It wasn't their intention, she knew, but they simply were extremely cautious around her and that made things difficult. 

Besides, there was always her own fear of hurting someone in an inattentive moment and that – subtly or not - prevented her from knitting tighter bonds. It all left a sense of alienation and sometimes she wondered if she would have to live with that isolation for the rest of her life. 

It was so difficult to always keep things to yourself, unable to share what moved you. Wrapping yourself in a cocoon was useful sometimes, but it also left you alone. Jean's questions tempted her to give voice to the words swelling in her chest. The words about feeling lonely, feeling feared. 

Rogue pressed her lips together almost imperceptibly. As much as she needed anyone to listen to her, she could not talk to Jean. What the doctor offered her was just another shallow familiarity. And as matter of fact there simply existed no connection between the two women that went beyond a teacher – student relationship. Rogue had long since decided it was better to leave it at that. So she gave Jean an answer that left no clue of what lay behind her inscrutable brown eyes. "Sometimes...I come to miss things," she said evenly, "belonging to my old life."

//And who wouldn't// she thought quietly. 

In those everyday moments, when people carefully avoided contact with her skin, she couldn't help but remember the days when getting touched was something totally natural to her. And although Rogue tried hard to put her past behind her, the memories returned persistently. Like they had this evening. As always, Rogue's plan had been to dwell on them for a while and then put them back into the dark drawer of her mind where she kept them. Now that the doctor's questions reminded Rogue painfully of the things she'd left behind, there was no way of locking the memories away again. A picture of her former home and her parents appeared in Rogue's mind. She could almost hear her mother going through her daily piano practice. The days had not only been rosy back then, but Rogue remembered that her life had been happy and safe until...yes, until the near-fatal experience of her first kiss. What had followed was a walk into steadily growing despair. As if to unwind the whole story of Rogue's sad adventures, the memory of her odyssey through the States involuntarily returned. Rogue remembered the many faces she'd met – almost all of them unfriendly, strange and showing nothing but rejection. All except for one... 

"Is it him?" Jean inquired into the silence. 

Rogue should have seen it coming. And yet it hurt as the doctor touched this special sore point. However, her earlier efforts to be calm were instantly dashed to pieces. There were so many things that bewildered her, so many feelings she hadn't known before. The last thing she needed was a teacher who lectured her about how to cope with the matters of the heart. Her cautiously maintained serenity was replaced by growing resentment. Kindly or not, the doctor had no right to interrogate her that way. And what was this question about Logan, anyway? Yes, _of course_ she thought about him. Often. And it made her sad that he wasn't here. But this sadness was something the doctor always misunderstood and Rogue wasn't the least bit interested in sharing any feelings she might have for Logan with Cyclops's girl. She wondered grimly why Jean always had to poke in that particular wound.

"Oh honey, you shouldn't do this to yourself. I know, you miss him – we all do," Jean said, her voice filled with perfect compassion, "but your life is here. With your friends. How ever much he means to you by now, these feelings will fade away in time. Hold your head high."

Rogue didn't answer at once but let the words seep into another silence between them. How little the doctor knew. 

Frost had begun to cover the corners of the glass pane, while outside the snowflakes still silently fell. Rogue watched them as they floated feather-like onto the ledge behind the pane, some of them instantly turning into tiny water drops when they landed. 

All these precious pieces of advice were like those little snowflakes. Melting away. Rogue knew her feelings wouldn't vanish. No feelings ever vanished, no memory Rogue ever sucked from anyone ever truly vanished. They might grow less intense in time, but often they would return in her dreams leaving her behind bathed in sweat and terribly stunned. It was Rogue's burden, her curse, to know the secrets of the ones she touched. She'd never asked for it. Damn, she never ever wanted it! And yet it was her power, one that had made her carry the inner self of what was Logan within her for over six months. Jean didn't know how it felt to have him within her heart, her mind and spirit. To get to know either his anguished soul and his strength. Rogue had seen many pictures in his mind that were unpleasant, part of the evil and pain that had struck Logan throughout the life he remembered. But she had also seen a strong, pure light within him. She'd felt his true affection for her as Logan had forced her back to life. He was her friend. One who'd understand and accept her no matter what she was or would be in the future. Could Jean imagine how precious this was? Or how painful to lack a person known so well? No, she could never even begin to understand. 

"I know," Rogue responded solemnly at last. For a short moment she sensed that the doctor wanted to say something more – but then seemed to change her mind. Rogue heard her rising from the chair and smoothing down her skirt. The sound was like a release.

"I know you do, dear," Jean Grey pointed out to her with a kind affectionate voice, "just...don't forget you'll find patient listeners here anytime you need." With that, the doctor left the room and Rogue was alone with her thoughts again. 

Rogue focused her gaze again onto the window. Her own pale face looked back at her from the pane and with some sort of astonishment Rogue studied her reflection. Somehow, the features seemed strangely foreign to her. Those eyes looked so sad – and a lot more adult than one would expect. For a dreadful moment Rogue thought she wouldn't even recognize them as her own. 

Jean Grey might think that Rogue was still the child who'd arrived at the school disoriented and frightened. But the events had changed her. The thin swan-white streak in her hair was just a minor reflection of the changes that had happened to her inside. There were so many unknown feelings, so many foreign memories inside her head, which often left her unsure of what she was... or even who. It frightened her deeply that someday one foreign presence would possibly overwhelm her own self and cast out her feelings and memories completely. 

And what would be left of her then? What would be left of Marie? 

Rogue shuddered and turned away from the strange sight. All of a sudden the room with its soft lamp light looked much friendlier than the outside. She slowly slid down the ledge and draped the necklace around her neck. The dog tags now had adapted to the warmth of her skin and felt smooth to her chest. Rogue quietly laid a hand over her shirt covering the tags. At least she could carry those without fear, for they comprised the promise of trust, friendship and a longed-for return. 

The mansion's corridors were pretty much deserted. At this late hour most of the folks were either in their own rooms or in the main common lounge on the mansion's lower floor. 

Thick carpets muffled the sound of her steps as Rogue passed numerous closed doors. She had become accomplished at navigating the school's maze of floors and corridors and she easily found her way to Logan's former room. The young woman hesitated for a moment, then she grasped the handle and stepped in. Darkness welcomed her. Only a faint blue light flowed through the single window and lent a luminous shimmer to the untouched white sheets. 

Rogue closed the door behind her as quietly as possible and moved further into the room. In this place the memories were more alive than in any other part of the building. Even a small remnant of _his_ scent still seemed to linger in the air and Rogue inhaled it deeply. Unfortunately, her senses were no longer as sharp as they had been in the first days after Logan had rescued her. Throughout those first weeks she had had full access to his skills, but gradually his abilities had begun to fade away, as had his memories in her head. By now he was little more than a faint presence in a distant corner of her mind and it became more and more difficult to recall what was his. 

Rogue looked around. They had left everything in its place in order to be prepared for Logan's return. Professor Xavier had been against giving the room to anyone else and Rogue was grateful for that. It made her believe that the professor didn't doubt Logan was coming back. 

The girl moved closer to the empty bed. Seeing the neatly folded blankets she once more remembered the fatal incident that had occurred there just a few months ago. She remembered the silver flash of his claws tearing the twilight and felt the hot pain exploding in her shoulder. She again saw his anguished eyes looking up to her in incredible fear and then all at once her memories twisted. Logan's sensations blustered out of her mind's corner and overwhelmed her with immense intensity. Seeing herself through his eyes, no longer just observing but feeling his agony and guilt, she truly had become Logan. She realized his mental pain was an equal to her physical one and felt a despairing cry forming within her throat. The whole room undulating around her, Rogue felt her very body shiver beneath the impact of the sudden experience. Her eyes flew wide open and she struggled for breath. 

It was over just as abruptly. The next second the sensations sloshed back and dimmed slowly. A trembling sigh escaped Rogue's lips as she felt Logan's memories retreat and it took her a moment to compose herself. Slowly her heartbeat fell back into its rhythm and the storm of whirling thoughts inside her eventually came to rest. 

After the first time he pushed his life force into her, the intensity of Logan's emotions and nature had scared Rogue. All of it had been so strange to her. Only little by little had he become more familiar. By now, it was almost as if he had become a part of her. It was an individual part that never stopped puzzling her. She'd never thought it would be like that. Before gained an insight into his soul, Rogue had seen Logan as a brave but also brusque guy. Now with all his grief, the rejection, the wrath and the loneliness inside her, she understood him to be a more profound man than anyone would ever guess. Some of his motives had become clear, although he struggled fiercely to stay a mystery.

Of course there had been other effects. The adoption of Logan's character traits hadn't passed without influencing Rogue's own behavior. Which had been much to the chagrin of many of the school's denizens, above all Scott. The canuck had been gone before he had a chance to see Rogue living up her _new_ way of treating the X-Men's harassed leader, but he surely would have enjoyed it. 

Rogue smiled with soft regret. Well, to Scott's relief this special trait had vanished in time. Just like all the other qualities Logan had left to her. The loss made her feel a bit sad, for with him gone his presence in her head was the only thing she could hold on to. There was little she could do but sense his feelings and traits withdraw to some dark spot in her mind where she could no longer reach them. Only occasionally would the Wolverine's nature break free, such as when Rogue went to places Logan remembered well. 

Rogue stretched out a gloved hand and briefly touched the pillow. 

Where would he sleep this night? 

She felt a soft tremor skitter down the tiny hairs on her arms that came from something other than the cold of an unheated room. For a brief moment, she could almost see Logan, lying with his eyes closed on the bed in front of her, his brows furrowed angrily even within slumber. In an absent motion Rogue folded her arms over her chest. She knew that some of the people here thought she was in love with him, but she herself was not so sure. Instead the huge variety of feelings when it came down to _him_ confused her deeply. There were so many emotions, each of them more bemusing than the rest and they left her clueless about how to think of him. On the one hand she might see him as a friend, one who protected and comforted her. But on the other hand she somehow wanted him to be, well, more than that. She was not naive enough to pretend that there ever would be anything more between them than a mere friendship or that he would see anything else than a childish crush in her affection towards him. And would her feelings really be something beyond a little girl's crush? Rogue couldn't tell. All she knew was that her mind kept returning to the picture of his face, and that thinking of him used to sent a sweet chill to the nape of her neck. But were those feelings truly real? Or were they produced by the lasting connection between the two of them, destined to fade away like everything else he had left inside her head? However, by Logan's decision to share his very soul with her a bond had developed between them that made it difficult to ignore the wish to share something more with him than a simple brother to sister relationship. 

Sometimes, in the very late hours when she was about to fall asleep, Rogue wondered if he might ever feel something similar. If he thought about her like she thought about him. But the next morning, when she woke up to the bare daylight, she wiped out those stupid thoughts. It was best not to linger on any pipe dreams. 

Rogue withdrew her hand from the bed and closed her fingers around the tags. With a soft sigh she stepped back and craned around slowly, letting her gaze wander over the dark lines of furniture. Despite all good sense she found herself back in this room again and again, recalling Logan's features, the sound of his voice or the way he used to move. Even the perpetual conflict of emotions she had to deal with couldn't diminish the comfort his mental image gave her. Although he was many miles away, just the thought of him still had the ability to smooth down her fears. It ensured her that she could safely lay her head down, for there was no menace to threaten her sleep. She only hoped that Logan was also safe from his torturing nightmares, wherever he might find his bed this night. Slowly she turned and went back to the doorway. Here she stopped, taking one last look over her shoulder. 

"Sleep well," she murmured quietly, then slid outside and closed the door behind her. 

pt. 2

January 14th

Rogue was finally done with her homework. //Unnerving stuff//, she thought while collecting several sheets of paper to put them into a drawer. Some things never seemed to change, no matter which school you went to. All the equations safely hidden within her desk, Rogue leaned back in her chair and stretched both of her arms. Lazily, she let herself sink into the cosy piece of furniture while eyeing her little realm. Rogue's room at the mansion was rather small but she loved it right the way it was. She'd pinned some postcards onto the walls and had filled the shelves with her favorite books. You couldn't call her quarters perfectly tidy but Rogue always knew where she'd placed the things belonging to her. Well, then again... almost always. This room meant home to her, a place she could live in and equip just the way she wanted to. It was much like her room with her parents. Of course there were differences. At Rogue's former home there had always been an angry voice commanding her to take care of the 'horrible mess' upstairs. In the academy no one told her to clean up her bedroom, because being an independent student meant things like that were one's own responsibility. The young woman smiled a bit. Although it was weird, Rogue sometimes found herself missing her mother's scolding. Then she supposed it was more likely her mother as a person whom she missed, rather than the carping. 

Rogue sat up and laid both of her hands onto the desk. How long had she been gone from her former home? 

//Nineteen months//, she thought //That's almost two years by now//. 

It left a strange taste in her mouth. Rogue had called once to reassure her parents she was still alive. A year had passed since that. She had considered calling them again but the separation had been much too painful. Rogue feared what would happen if she came into contact with her family again. 

Rogue noticed she had clasped her hands so fiercely her knuckles had turned white. 

"Hell," she muttered, "this _is_ nuts." Since when had she become such a chicken? Damn, she had seen men face death without even blinking, and she was scared about a simple phone-call. 

She fetched a single blank sheet out of the drawer and laid it before her. 

She could get a rejection, or even no response at all. Rogue thought of her parents' faces and the many memories that still linked her to them. Maybe there was nothing but disappointment awaiting her. But Rogue decided it was worth a try. 

She took a pen and started the letter. Just then a soft knock at the door announced a visitor. 

"Come in," Rogue said and looked back over her shoulder. Kitty stuck her head into the room. "H'lo honey. In for a movie tonight? The others are already in the TV room."

"What're they showing?" 

Kitty shrugged. "Dunno. Something with cars and guns, I suppose. The boys have chosen."

Rogue smirked back at her. "Gimme two minutes."

"See you downstairs then," Kitty replied, merely blinking, and then rushed out. 

Rogue hesitated for a moment, then laid the pen aside and shoved the letter back into the drawer. 

As Kitty had guessed the movie had been extremely action loaded and fairly boring in Rogue's book. But it had been worth the fun teasing the boys while they were trying to concentrate on the film's so called storyline. With a satisfied smile on her features Rogue was on her way back to her room. She was about to think how wonderful a warm, soft bed would be right that moment when she heard the voices.

"...don't care if he is. He gets himself into trouble, he pulls himself out of the mess on his own", Rogue heard a masculine voice rail. 

An easing female voice obviously tried to calm the man down. "It surely wasn't his intention to..."

"His intention?" the man – who Rogue easily recognized as Scott - gruffly cut his companion off, "He takes every chance he gets to start a fight. We all know that."

"He's got a bit of a temper, " the female voice – that was certainly Jean – admitted, and Rogue heard Scott utter the word "bit" derisively beneath his breath, "but I'm sure he's able to control it, when he's led in the right direction." 

The tension was almost tangible. Rogue snuck across the corridor as silently as possible until she stood right next to the crack in the door. She didn't dare peek so she waited and eavesdropped. 

"I'm sure he wouldn't object to _you_ leading him in some direction," Scott replied bitterly.

"Scott!" Jean rebuked sharply, not able to cover her indignation about the clear reproach. It seemed as if Scott reconsidered what he just had said, as he spoke again Rogue caught a twinge of guilt in his voice: 

"I'm sorry, Jean. I didn't mean to imply anything. It's just..." He paused and then went on, convinced: "he's a troublemaker. Look at us. Even when he's miles away we're arguing because of him."

"That's not only his fault," Rogue heard Jean's soft rebuke. Scott didn't answer, but Rogue was sure he had a whole bunch of thoughts Jean had better not try to read. "I know the two of you had a bad start," Jean went on, carefully, "but couldn't you be a bit more...understanding?" 

"He stole my motorcycle," Scott mumbled instead of an answer. 

"For goodness' sake!" Jean blustered untypically enraged, "You two would be so bored if you couldn't go for each other's throats, wouldn't you?" 

"That's just manly," Scott teased, obviously amused at his girlfriend's outburst.

Jean's outraged reply sounded strangely muffled and Rogue grinned, imagining possible causes. Then she heard Scott and the doctor leaving the room. Rogue waited for a second then slid through the door. A broad smile lay on her features – the girl knew exactly whom the two had been talking about. 

__

Troublemaker.

Logan would have liked that. She stopped at a low table in the middle of the room. A newspaper lay there, probably left by Scott and Jean. Rogue picked it up. It was from a northern county Rogue didn't know. She quickly glanced over the articles and then stiffened. Suddenly, the smile was wiped from her face completely. Her fingers dug into the paper while she read the small item printed in the upper corner of the page. 

"...great parts of the bar had been ravaged throughout the struggle. Six men were injured, among them the bartender and the man who, according to witnesses, provoked the quarrel. That man was able to escape the crime scene before the police arrived. Witnesses describe him as broad-shouldered, with conspicuous facial hair. He wore a dark leather jacket and blue jeans. The police believe he might be armed, as one of the victims was stabbed in the leg. Any sign of the suspect is to be reported to..." 

Rogue read the article a second, a third time, paralyzed, then she let the newspaper sink down numbly. 

"Logan..." she whispered, paled. The word _injured_ burned in her head while she imagined her friend pursued by a brigade of policemen. She tried to get rid of the shock. Told herself that Logan could take care of himself very well. And injuries were usually nothing that bothered him. 

But it did concern. Thoughts fluttered behind her forehead. Logan was somewhere up north, trouble at his heels and with no one at his side. Would the X team come to her friend's aid? Rogue had heard Scott's opinion on the topic and with the X-Men's leader not willing to organize anything for his favorite opponent, there was no hope left for support from this quarter. Maybe the professor would be able to arrange something, but he wouldn't interfere with Logan's task, Rogue was sure about that. 

She was so damn helpless! Well, she could jump on the next bus up north, but with Cerebro she would be found in less than an hour. And what would be the use of her playing cavalry? Most likely she'd be a burden rather than a help for Logan, and – to be honest – she wasn't even sure if he'd like to have her by his side. He hadn't sent any message about how or even where he'd been during the last months, anyway.

Rogue stared down at the paper again. Missing him was bad enough, but with this article it became all too difficult to ignore the fear that Logan might be in any danger. 

//Little baby//, she scolded herself and took a deep breath, //He won't be captured, or injured, or anything. // Rogue tilted her head up and made an effort to choke the anxiety. Thinking of Logan as immortal might be a bit childish, but Rogue also knew it was the only thing that would make waiting somewhat bearable. She simply didn't dare doubt he would come back. 

Logan was able to take care of himself. Anyone who messed with him would learn to stay a good distance away from those claws. 

Rogue resisted the urge to read the item again. Such puny bar fights were nothing but fun to Logan, ...weren't they?

__

Somewhere at the edge of the academy's terrain...

Children.

He could hear their jarring laughter, their babbling voices, he could even smell their abhorrent scent creeping through the heavy air toward him. He saw them play their stupid games, while they believed themselves to be safe. None of them knew the menace to be so near, the threat almost able to lay a hand upon their shoulder. 

Victor narrowed his eyes. Oh, how sweet would their blood taste to him. Poor rabbits. Weak fawns. The sort of warriors who were to be grown at this place were nothing but bugs he could easily squeeze between his fingers. 

Those X infant's couldn't dare hope to stand up against the Brotherhood's strength. No one could. 

They once had caught the X-Men in a trap. All had worked well, their enemies were given no chance to defend themselves or even to stop the master's great effort. And the Brotherhood would have succeed! They would have won all and lost nothing. Victor clenched his fists. Then – all destroyed. All plans crashed beneath the ruined machine the master had created with so much sacrifice. All because of one single man. The one who defeated him, tainted his honor and let him suffer a fall that denied Victor's very strength. The name printed on those tags had become an oath of revenge to the beast like mutant. His snarl rumbled deeply in his throat: 

"Wolverrrrine" 

His enemy had not only taken away Victor's knowledge of his invincibility, the Wolverine had also taken the center of his life from him. Eric Lensherr, the one man Sabretooth had ever followed loyally. Victor had sworn that the clawed one would pay. 

Now he was waiting. Hidden in the shadows near the Wolverine's lair, but he hadn't returned yet. Victor forced the fire of wrath within him to only gleam faintly, knowing his enemy would come back in time. He had learned to be patient. 

And then ... when the time of patience would finally be over... there would be revenge. As his enemy had taken the most important things from him, Sabretooth would tear from his foe what he valued most. Bit by bit. And he would finally taste the sweetness of blood. 

__

A small diner next to a Canadian Highway...

The snowfall had stopped tonight and Eleanor was truly glad. At least she wouldn't have to worry about having her car stuck in any darn snowdrift again. She was tired of hearing the unnerving sound of spinning tires and she hated to hold her fingers to a heater until her skin got bruised, for no gloves ever really kept her hands from growing cold. Not up here at any rate, where even your breath froze in mid air. Although Eleanor liked her job, she thought that she would leave this place next spring. There simply were warmer places to work. 

"Here you go," she said, placing a cup of coffee and a sandwich in front of a lone customer sitting at the counter . The man mumbled something that could have been a "thank you" from behind his paper. 

Eleanor took a clean cloth and quickly wiped it over the almost deserted bar. At this hour the diner was poorly attended, apart from the chatty paper guy there was only one other customer. Eleanor lay the cloth aside and walked toward him to get his order. 

The first impression she got was of a tired man. But as she approached him she saw that exhaustion was not what troubled him. Eleanor suppressed a sad sigh. She knew the expression on the customer's features very well. She had seen those sorrowful shadows upon the faces of numerous truckers stopping here. This one had a look in his dark eyes that told of a man too long away from home. She gave him her nicest smile. 

"So, you look like you could use a good cup of black coffee," she said merrily. 

The man briefly looked up and she was faintly surprised by his almost feral features. 

"Yeah, that'd be great..." he said with a deep, quiet voice before he sank back into brooding again. Another taciturn loner, Eleanor thought, slightly amused. For no particular reason, she felt a strong sympathy for the strange guy. Maybe it was that haunted look in his eyes. "Every road leads home in time, you know," Eleanor said softly, feeling the urge to cheer him up. She got a piercing glance in return, but used to various dark expressions she managed to maintain her smile, "I'll go get your coffee, hon."

He watched her as she left. You seldom found kindness when you were on the road. In fact he couldn't say what he preferred – courteous folks or those who just didn't care and minded their own business. 

Logan took a swift glance around the diner. It was nothing special, just a place like all the others he'd been in on his long journey. A place you passed through, where nobody who knew you could be foundand where the main words to be said were either ordering or the nonsense talk of shabby truckers. Once, he had been accustomed to that sort of life, Logan thought. He'd been a traveler, never one to stay long at any place. He had liked it or at least known there was no alternative. Now... things had changed. 

His encounter with the professor and his crew of geeks had turned the tables. They'd offered him a new way to live and – for Christ's sake – he'd come to savor the taste. He'd felt some sort of closeness and, for all he knew, that was a dangerous direction to follow. Hope was a cursed thing. Fragile. Why should he set himself up just to see hope die again? 'Cause that'd been the way for all those years: every time he found himself content, sooner or later he had seen his hopes shattered. At last he had concluded it was best to expect nothing and to always be prepared for the worst. A feeling of rootlessnes had determined his life and now it struck him again. He felt himself standing at a crossroad, neither belonging to his old way of life nor to the new one offered to him. 

"Oh yeah...fuck," he swore to himself. 

Those guys with their funny little 'save-the-mutants' project had not only gotten him into a battle which wasn't his own, they'd also turned him into a brooding mess. 

//So what're you going to do, sport?// he teased himself with a wry grin . Just then the waitress brought the coffee she'd promised him. The girl placed the cup right before him, never breaking her open smile. "Enjoy it", she advised him and he nodded her a thank you. Logan held the cup in his hands and waited until the warmth began to seep underneath his skin. The warm, spicy scent of the brew woke his frozen spirits. Canadian winds were a challenge to every man's pluck. Especially for those who were suicidal enough to drive along the most northern roads on a motorbike. He let the first sip slide down his throat, thoughtfully. 

As long as he remembered he had traveled many highways. He had been on his own - no rules, no boundaries and therefore no concerns about 'em. He was finding out that getting rid of old habits wasn't easy at all. 

Logan watched the black liquid swirling as he lifted the cup for a second sip. 

//A road to lead home, huh?// he smiled and put the cup to his lips. 

Maybe it was indeed time to try a new highway.

January 21st 

The dim light of a little lamp lit the bedroom and was reflected on the flowing fabric of Jean's night gown. Delicate silver and red petals twined over the silk in playful coils. By the play of light and shadow the patterns almost seemed alive. 

Scott watched his lady's every move silently. He followed her combing her auburn hair and smiled at how even laying the comb aside was performed with intriguing grace. Jean rose and let the housecoat fall down her slender shoulders. The fabric slid down her whole form in one single, flowing move. She then turned to find her fiancé's gaze settled on her.

"What are you staring at?" she asked , smiling. 

"Come here," he said instead of answering and so she did. The sheets rustled softly as she crept beneath the blanket next to him. When Scott put an arm around her shoulder to pull her closer she completed the move by snuggling tight to his body. 

"Tired?" he asked gently. 

"Somewhat," Jean admitted, "it was a hard day. How was the visit?"

"The usual. They talked, they parted...no change at all." Since the Statue of Liberty incident Professor Xavier routinely visited Magneto's cell. Scott supposed those visits were more a matter of control rather than a tribute to a former friend. 

Jean had fallen silent, so Scott shifted to look down at her. "What're you thinking?"

"They are unusually peaceful, aren't they?" she said. 

"The Brotherhood?" Scott asked, "Maybe. But Magneto was the one in charge, could be the rest of the heap has lost its direction since he's withdrawn from service."

Jean placed a hand on his chest. "What was the last thing we've heard?"

"There was the article about the hijack at that pharmaceutical company's chemistry labs last week," Scott considered while tenderly stroking her delicate fingers. 

"Wasn't there a witness?" Jean said.

"One who claimed he'd seen a female demon with yellow eyes, yes," Scott confirmed. 

"You think they plan something to free their leader?" his fiancé asked.

"Why don't you read my thoughts?"

"Scott!" she complained indignantly, half chuckling. 

He gave her a gentle smile and picked one single strand of her hair to play with. "Don't worry, love. We got done with them once, we will again if need be."

"Only the last time we had Logan as a support," she said. 

Scott stiffened immediately and pulled his hand back from her hair. "We can handle situations without him_ just as well,_ " he said coldly. Her glance flew up to him. 

"Scott," Jean tried in her most rational voice, "isn't it better to gather all our forces before it comes to a fight?"

"He's not ours," Scott emphasized, "as he said, he 'doesn't need anyone'. And we..."

"Shhh, love..." He was instantly stopped by her finger gently laid on his lips. Scott fell inevitably silent and returned her gaze, though still disgruntled. 

"You don't have to do this," she reminded him softly. For a moment, neither of them said a word. 

"I know, he's brave and dependable...somehow," Scott conceded evenly at last, "But he's also a risk to the team. You know he'll take what he wants and to hell with any consequences."

"There are things he cannot take and never shall," she ensured him. All of a sudden her hand slid gracefully down his chest and lower.

"Jean!" Scott gasped, entirely surprised. Her response was an almost impish smirk. 

"Need more convincing?" she asked quietly. A broad smile appeared on his face as he encircled her tighter in his embrace. "We'll see..." and bent down to kiss her. When their lips met, Scott felt a wave of contentment surge inwardly. Why should he rack his brains about future problems? Especially now, when he had his lover so close and when both the Brotherhood and dear Logan dwelt a good distance away from him, not likely to come back for a long restful period of time.

pt. 3

January 22nd 

__

About 3 a.m. ...

The deep, humming sound of the bike's engine died away at the tall gate which marked the end of the mansion's terrain. A cold wind blew straight in his face while shiny snowflakes scattered all around him to settle on his clothes and dark hair. For what seemed an eternity he did not move but watched the impressive building through the ornate iron bars. The stars were visible between patches of clouds and blinked at the nightly view. Everything was silent, as if in wait for something – or someone. 

Logan put a hand onto the bike's handlebars, then drew it back again, reluctantly. Once more he looked back over his shoulder at the empty street behind him. Then he shook his head with a slightly nervous grin upon his face.

//'This what you guys call fate?// he thought wryly. 

Then, if this mansion and its freaks ought to be his destiny, he could as well drive through the gateway and see what awaited him. 

A cloud was about to cover the crescent when Logan finally sat back to start the engine. 

Lurking in the shadows where all Logan's heightened senses were not able to track him, Sabretooth watched the dark machine passing the gate and stopping in front of the academy's main entrance. He saw how the driver got off his bike, shouldered his duffel bag and climbed the flat steps to the mansion's door. A moment later he disappeared inside of the building. 

Sabretooth rose to his full size. His black eyes glowered and he released his fangs, disgusted. For a moment Victor remained in place, then he sent one last, promising growl against the nightly mansion. Without further hesitation he whirled around and vanished into the dark. 

Moonlight poured through the high windows and cast a bizarre mosaic of shadows on the hall's ground and walls. By standing in the midst of the fluorescing twilight his own shade had silently mingled with the rest of the pattern. Logan took his time looking around the wide hall, while he ran a hand through his hair, freeing it from some leftover snowflakes. Now here he was, and what next? The security systems had given him entry without any problems as if he'd been expected, but that was not the only thing to surprise him. The moment he had entered the mansion, Logan had noticed something was different. First he couldn't put a finger on it, but slowly he realized what had changed. Unlike his very first stroll through the mansion this place was no longer foreign to him, the sight of the momentarily sleeping academy stirred memories he'd safely treasured since his day of leaving. This was all familiar, reminding him of well known faces. There was a funny feeling within his chest, a soft but insistent pulling. He'd never felt quite like this before – or that's what he thought, at least. Could this be the sensation one experienced when coming home?

//_Home_...// Just the sound of the word gave him a tingle of excitement he never knew existed. 

Logan blew out a short, disapproving breath and shifted the bag he'd shouldered. All those sentimentalities did him no good. He thought about searching for a couch in one of the various lounges, when he caught a familiar scent. Immediately he stopped and sniffed the air, curiously. Yes, it was her. Logan absently scratched his beard, thinking. He could just as easily have a quick look to make sure she was doing well. Just in case...

Decision made, he turned and headed noiselessly through the empty corridors. 

Unlike most movies, where noises happened at the most unsuitable moments, the door opened without any treacherous squeak as he crept in. Silence welcomed him and at first all he could see were the dark silhouettes of furniture and the outline of the windowpanes. No curtains in front of the pane and certainly no one to expect a nightly visitor. Logan felt much like an intruder and for a swift instant he actually thought about getting the hell out of there. But the moment he entered the room his reasoning was pushed aside by a most occupying distraction. At once his nostrils were filled by the various shades of her scent. Unintentionally or not, her smell had left trails in his memory which would not fail to lead him to her. Logan supposed it was a result of the sympathy they shared and hadn't really thought about it. The girl had been the first person who trusted him – or who he allowed to trust - for a long time. No wonder she claimed a special place within his mind. Logan silently approached the bed, where he placed his bag slowly onto the floor. Raising again he eventually settled his gaze on the sleeping girl before him. It didn't take long for his eyes to get used to the gloomy light, so her form and outlines grew clearer. He also became aware of the hardly noticeable moves she made within slumber and for a second or two he just watched the embroidered quilt rising and falling with her soft breathing. At this sight Logan felt some of his sorrows resolved. He'd came here to check if she was doing well, and so she was. In fact, Logan sensed nothing but peace surrounding her and – strangely enough – peace within his own heart. Only then did he realize how much the knowledge of her being safe soothed him. His charge. His..._friend_. Could he dare call her so? To his surprise he felt he could. 

Following his instincts rather than rational sense he moved to the head of the bed, where he sat back on his heels to study her closer. Her dark hair was spread over the pillow and around her face, one single thin strand wriggled cheekily over the bridge of her nose. Her skin was pale, almost ivory, and he found his attention caught by the filigree shadows the lashes cast on her cheekbones' soft curves. A warm smile touched both his lips and eyes. She looked so very innocent and once again he was bemused by how he ever could have come to knit a bond between him and such a incredible fair being. Wasn't life a fucking strange thing? 

He carefully reached out into the air to trace a imaginary line down her cheek, then he slowly drew his hand back again. He truly didn't want her to wake up, but a small part of him wished she would. Just to see her eyes sparkle with the delight she always seemed to experience when she saw him. //Complacent little bastard//, he swore at himself, but smiled broadly nevertheless. Whatever he'd expected from returning here, he'd never imagined feeling so content. Watching the girl's peaceful slumber, he admitted the truth to himself for the first time: he was not drawn back to these halls by any sense of responsibility or even duty, but by his own will. 

In the end, she couldn't tell what actually woke her up. She only knew she suddenly felt as if someone was in her room. Rogue slowly drifted out of the mists of deep slumber, her recent dream still clouding her senses. She moaned unwillingly, shifted underneath the quilt and laid a hand to her forehead. She then tried a first, careful glance through tired, only half opened eyes. Was she still dreaming? Or did she really see a tall figure at the foot of her bed? 

Rogue withdraw her hand for an inch and blinked sleepily. To her amazement, the man shaped shadow didn't disappear but grew clearer instead. Rogue slowly got the feeling she somehow knew this silhouette. There was something familiar 'bout...

"Logan?!?"

Rogue sat up with a start, eyes wide open now as she stared at the nightly visitor. For a most irrational moment she believed this couldn't be anything but a dream. But dreams usually didn't talk.

"Hey kid." 

His deep, velvet voice blew all the scraps of sleep out of her mind. This was reality! Although Rogue truly couldn't explain the whys and hows, Logan – who ought to be having his sideburns frost-bitten on some snowy Canadian highway - was comfortably sprawling in her basket chair, arms naturally crossed in front of his chest. For a moment she lacked all speech.

"'s there something on my nose?" he asked eventually and Rogue even heard the broad grin that was definitely plastered all over his face. 

"Logan..." she echoed bemused, "what're _you_ doin' here?"

"Repaying a favor, I guess," he answered simply, "Once you took care of my sleep, remember?"

Rogue couldn't help but stare again, totally stunned by this whole strange event.

"I wish you'd stop that," he complained and briefly rubbed the back of his neck, his moves vaguely recognizable in the dark "I feel kinda observed."

Rogue twitched involuntarily and hastily picked a strand of hair back behind her ear. "Sorry," she uttered, "it's just...I mean...you're not a dream, are you?" 

His white teeth flashed in the darkness as he grinned broadly. "Think not." 

Slowly but surely coping with the situation, Rogue reluctantly returned his smile, still unable to decide whether to burst into relieved tears or laughter. She felt as if she were underwater, where everything went on in slow motion, and she just managed to get to the surface. //He's back//, she thought, but bit the words. "Always one for showy appearances, ain't you," she shot back instead. 

"Just one of my many preferences," he smiled. His next words, however, sounded a lot more serious and hardly Logan-ish: "Sorry, kid. I didn't meant to disturb you. Just wanted to check if they're doing a good job in taking care of you, y'know."

"Never mind, I'm doing well," she shrugged , straining to hide the turmoil of buzzing emotions behind a cool expression. She'd never – never – let him guess what his plainly, though most likely unintentionally, shown affection caused her to feel. That his care made her feel both satisfied and proud. Apart from the professor, who certainly hadn't missed noticing Logan's return, Rogue figured the rest of the academy was still clueless. She'd been the first person Logan had come to see – well, wasn't this interesting, but damn, it felt _so_ good. 

"So you're back, huh?" she asked with a delighted smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. 

"Would seem so," he returned, confirming. 

"Will you stay?" 

He took his time to give her an answer, and as if he did it on purpose, it was slow motion all over again. For a moment the question hung between them ever so gravely. Rogue half yearned for his answer, half feared his response. For a swift instant she wondered if Logan sensed the importance of this special moment as she did. 

Waiting, Rogue clawed the blanket with stiffening strain. The pause seemed to drag itself out endlessly... .

"At least for a while," Logan broke the tension, "'spose One Eye wouldn't be too awfully glad to have me shooting 'round his territory for long," he added, the anticipation within his words hardly hidden. 

"Probably," Rogue smirked back, ever so relieved. The naturalness of their conversation started to calm her earlier startled state just as his presence always made her feel safe and understood.

Again she kept silent for a moment, only this time the silence emerged from comfort. Her glance drifted to the window, behind which the sky had adopted a color of dark, dusted purple. Dim light flowed into the room, revealed a piece of Logan's washed-out jeans and cast the black shadow of the window's cross on the quilt as if printed. All those details convinced Rogue this was all real, that she wasn't hallucinating Logan's presence. Inaudibly, slowly, Rogue felt a small piece clicking into a space within her heart, an empty place that was now filled at last. This nightly encounter might be transitory, but for the moment, all was perfect. Nothing was missing any more. 

A warm smile settled on her face as she looked at him in the darkness. A feeling of peace flooded over her in a great, soothing wave, filling her lungs with pure serenity instead of oxygen. 

And it was him who made this all possible. 

She looked at him, eyes now accustomed to the half-light, and watched the mental image she had carried mingle with the man's outlines before her. That was the moment she knew she loved him. There was no loud heartbeat, no pounding wave of excitement, no racing pulse. There was just soft certainty and a silent whispering that seemed to fill her whole being. It was a very innocent love, though, and unfinished. What she felt for him was pure and deep, something you could neither define nor explain but only retain. For this fragile moment the whole maze of feelings she'd struggled with throughout the last months was solved and everything laid clear before her, as if it never had been any different. 

Rogue realized that her silence must have lasted for several seconds and she waited for Logan to complain as he had before. Her smile widened and she leaned back against her bedframe. It was fascinating how just his presence soothed her, let alone his voice. The slight fragrance that had lingered in Logan's room at the mansion began to fill the air around her and she imagined how it would be to have him around every day. To see him in the teachers' dining room having breakfast or to watch him sparring with Scott Summers. It was a feast! Oh, she really looked forward to the coming days, she'd missed his gruff and sarcastic nature as much as she'd missed his...well...nicer qualities. Damn, she never dreamed his return would take such a heavy load from her mind. She only hoped this salvation would not be taken from her too soon. Just in case, Rogue intended to savor every moment with her friend she could get. The last time the two of them were together had been much too short, and there had been little place for the daily things, like eating or even chatting together. 

Rogue leant over to her bedside locker and switched a little lamp on. She almost felt the rise of a questioning eyebrow. A soft chuckle made her eyes sparkle as she reached for the table. Now that the waiting was over, the first thing she needed to do was return to Logan at least one of the many gifts he'd offered her. The dog tags laid there in the bright light and Rogue took them cautiously from the table, the metal shimmering briefly as she picked them up. 

"You want these back?" she asked quietly. To not allow him to touch her bare skin, Rogue let the necklace dangle down her fingers so he could easily pick his tags. Logan bent solemnly forward to receive her offer. For a moment he let his gaze rest on the silvery pieces, then he lifted the necklace to drape it around his neck. He pleasantly leaned back into the chair, which made the furniture crunch slightly in protest, before he looked at Rogue again, his lips curving into a faint smile. "I felt something missing on my ride," he said and Rogue didn't know if he'd meant the tags or her. 

"Did you succeed?" she cautiously changed the subject, "I mean, have you...?"

"Found anything?" he carried on for her, "No. Nothing at all." His fingers picked up the tags once more and let them wander over his knuckles. "The compound was deserted, nothing left to give any clues. I left it after a few days ."

Rogue bit her lip. She truly wished she could comfort him somehow, but all her words seemed so small to her, insufficient. //I know nothing at all about being lonely//, she thought sadly. 

"Hey kid, don't you worry," he demanded, leaning forward to stress his words, "the boy's bike made the trip a damn fine holiday, be sure of that." 

Rogue cracked a smile. "Where've you been otherwise?" she asked, curiously. 

Logan leaned back, content to see her smile again. "Look," he said , suppressing a big bear yawn, "could we delay this until breakfast? I feel like every darned adamantium piece is weighing twice as heavy on me." 

"Your room's still as you left it, y'know," Rogue chuckled. 

"Great," Logan grunted, then rose and stretched his limbs. "As if they expected me to come back, huh?"

"As you once told me, there's little the professor seems not to know," Rogue said. Logan grumbled affirmatively and headed for the door. 

"Logan?" 

He turned towards her, cocking one eyebrow in that typical gesture of his and she forced herself to lock eyes with him. "Good night," she said simply. It was the only time she would allow her voice to ring with a trace of the hidden emotions inside her. Logan remained at the room's entry, somewhat astonished, then his lips twitched almost unwillingly into a soft smile. "Night, kid." 

Scott double-checked his visor to be sure it was securely attached to his temples as he strode down the corridor. Jean caught up to him, skillfully tucking a pile of books and notes under her arm. Her shoes clicked on the polished parquet in a steady rhythm. Ororo was walking just behind them, her silky skirt waving around her legs. Pupils' voices could be heard not far away, where the corridors converged in the wide hall in front of the students' dining room. The sun, above the line of snow powdered treetops, had just risen.

"When's your lecture?" Scott asked, pointing his chin at Jean's load. 

"10 am," his fiancé replied, carefully draping a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "If everything goes smoothly, the professor and I'll get an invitation for the weekend's conference. Have you booked the flight yet?" 

"You'll take off at 7:30 a.m. Friday morning, as you wished." 

"I have the statistics, you asked for," Ororo said . "I left them at your study." 

"Thank you," Jean replied, "I just hope that someday they'll visit my lectures not only to listen but also to understand what I'm trying to tell them."

"It's much easier to educate young students than politicians," Ororo agreed, sighing. 

"That day will come," Scott said as they reached the teachers' private dining room. The X-Men's leader stepped through the door and was immediately bathed in the soft light of the morning sun streaming generously through the glass covering the room's back wall. The architecture made the room light and wide and the view was breathtaking. In the summer months one could survey great parts of the woods surrounding the mansion or sit on the adjoining terrace watching the sunset until the first stars came out. As soon as the heavy clouds withdrew in winter, a crystal blue sky would spread itself like a dome above the treetops. This morning the sky's color was as blue as the Caribbean sea. Heavy snow was sparkling gemlike on the trees' branches and reflected tiny spots of light skipping on the shiny tiles of the room's bar. 

The mansion's staff had been busy preparing an excellent breakfast, so the trio was welcomed by the scent of warm toast and hot coffee. Jean left her documents at the bar while Ororo and Scott already were taking their seat at the set table. 

"If we go on with our work, they'll have no choice but stop being ignorant one day," Scott continued while he reached for a jug filled with fresh orange juice. The golden liquid swirled threateningly against the jug's edge.

"Eggs, sunnyside up _and_ naivete? What a place." The dark, amused voice seemed to come out of nowhere. 

Scott jerked at the unexpected sound, almost spilling the juice all over the table. He spun around and found the intruder leaning pleasantly against the passageway between dining and living area. "Logan?!" Ororo exclaimed as she jumped up, entirely surprised. He swiftly bent his head, mimicking a formal bow. As if time itself had frozen for a couple of seconds, neither of them spoke or moved.

"So you decided to come back sooner than we expected," Scott eventually said, hanging onto as much of his dignity as he could while remaining a contortionist with the dripping jug still clutched with his left hand. 

"Surprise," Logan returned dryly. Before any of them could speak further, Ororo broke the paralyzing tension and walked briskly towards Logan to give him a spontaneous big hug. Startled by the sudden hearty gesture Logan raised both his eyebrows, then returned the embrace with a light smirk on his lips. "So when did you return?" Ororo inquired when she finally let go of him. "While you were asleep, darlin'," he smiled, almost charmingly. Meanwhile Scott had placed his jug on the table and now turned to confront Logan , studying him skeptically. "Does the professor know you're back?" he asked formally.

"Is there any way he wouldn't?" Logan prompted. Instantly both man focused on each other, estimating and challenging at the same time. Secretly, Logan was hard pressed to suppress a broad grin. God, but this was fun! He'd never considered he could enjoy seeing them all again that much. Then _she_ came out from behind the bar, gracefully approaching him. Her way of walking was just right, light and shadow playing in an all too intriguing way upon her endless legs. Logan watched her moves and saved every sight cautiously within his memory, not caring about the other man's warning stare. 

"Logan," she said simply, extending her hand to him. 

"Jean." He nodded her a swift smile, nothing else. //Jean. Jeannie// he thought with a remnant of bitter-sweet wistfulness stirring faintly within him while he squeezed her hand lightly, //Can you hear me?// For a brief moment their eyes locked in a gaze that could tell so much and yet so little. 

"Would you like to have breakfast with us?" Jean invited him kindly. 

"I thought you'd never ask."

Later they were on their way to professor Xavier's office. Scott had struggled to find an excuse to stay away from the lesson he had to teach, but didn't succeed, and since Ororo also had to be in class, it was only Logan and Jean walking down the corridors. It kind of angered Jean that after all she'd said and done, her fiancé still couldn't let go of his jealousy. As things were, Jean thought resigned, this exhausting game wouldn't come to a brief end as she'd been hoping. As if in defiance to Scott's behavior the doctor couldn't resist watching her present companion from time to time out of the corner of an eye. It was such an unexpected event to see him again, but then – not so surprising at all. Just when had he ever done anything calculable? For the moment Logan ambled, his taciturn self all over again, next to her towards the mansion's wing the professor inhabited. The laughter of a group of students drifted towards them. 

"Seems like you're having a great time," Logan said. 

"Yes," Jean admitted, " we've had no serious trouble around here since you've been gone."

"That's got nothing to do with me being the troublemaker, has it?" he half joked. 

"You know what I mean."

"Sure."

She gave him an amused smile, as her attention suddenly was caught by the sight of a silvery flash next to Logan's collar. //His tags//, she thought surprised. When had he fetched those? As she'd understood, he'd returned long before dawn and hadn't been at the students' dining room since. Then he could hardly have met the girl yet. Unless...Jean hurriedly looked away from him. No, this was odd. She knew about his protectiveness when it came to the girl, so it was certainly clear that he wanted to know if his charge was alright the sooner the better. Jean intended to have a word with him about nightly visits to female students' bedrooms, though. 

"I have to turn left here," she informed him as they reached the stairs' end. He nodded, then seemed to remember something, for he briefly reached into an inner pocket of his jacket to retrieve a piece of paper. With plain interest Jean looked at that 'something' he held out to her. Being only more confused by his action , she slowly took it from his hand and recognized it to be a worn-out postcard. "I wanted to send you this," he explained plainly, "but I came back before I got the chance to." He didn't wait for a reaction, just nodded at her and started to walk away along the right hand corridor. 

Jean simply stared at the postcard. There was a shot of a Canadian mountain view on it, deep blue sky and snow white peaks. She turned the card but found its back bare. 

"Logan," she said, looking up. 

He half turned towards her, a questioning look upon his face. "Yes?"

"It's good to have you back again."

For a moment he just stood there, looking at her expressionlessly, then his lips curved into an ever so gentle smile. Without speaking he turned his back to her and walked off.

pt. 4

And so our love's not a simple thing

Nor our truths unwavering

But like the moon's pull on the tide

Our fingers touch our hearts collide

I'll be a moonsbreath by your side. 

__

Lyric written by Loreena McKennitt

January 22nd

Late that evening, Logan finally felt so jumpy that it was impossible for him to lie down. He'd strolled restlessly about the corridors before finally sitting down in one of the smaller lounges. The change in his life had been more far-reaching than he liked to admit to himself. The professor had offered him a job at the mansion, that is, he'd offered him a place on the team, and since noon Logan had brooded over their conversation. Or more likely over the effect it had on him. Although he couldn't deny that he liked the feeling of being welcomed, he couldn't help but wonder if this integration was really what he wanted. Wouldn't the walls close in on him after a while? And if he felt like getting on the road again, would he still be able to leave or would there already be soft chains on him? Logan slowly realized he had decided to come back, but he had never really considered what to do from there. 'Live for the moment' had been his motto, planning ahead was just not his way. 

Blue smoke swirled into the air as he puffed at his cigar with relish. 

//You're going to let them stick a dog collar on you, you know, buster?// an inner voice reminded him. His mouth twitched into a dry smile. Yeah, and he was willing to hand them the leash. He'd never had a home, or at least didn't remember one, and here he was, ready to pay any price they'd demand to be part of something. 

Was that really him? 

Logan felt the world around him changing. And he was changing too. There was no way to stop it and for the moment, he didn't want to. The Wolverine growled his angry protest, but these growls grew more quiet with every hour that passed. 

Some grey ash flakes scattered from the tip of his cigar down into the tray, while Logan cast a glance outside the common room's high window. It didn't look like snow, but by the various heavy clouds covering the moon he presumed it would before midnight. 

He sensed Rogue long before she tried to attract his attention by causing a little noise. Logan looked up at her unhurriedly when she slowly crossed the room to hesitantly stop next to him. 

"Hey," she said, low-voiced.

"Hey yourself," he replied and saw her smile in return. "Couldn't sleep?" 

"Yeah," she answered, folding her arms in front of her chest, "'spose I'm a night owl."

"That makes two of us," he said with a smile, "Wanna sit for a while?"

"Sure." She perched on a chair and cuddled up in the back-rest. A pleasant silence emerged between them, as another cloud of tobacco smoke curled up into the air and Rogue slid deeper into the cozy piece of furniture. Logan had not bothered to switch on the lights, so it was just her eyes sparkling in the twilight, her smooth form lightly lit by the contrasts of dim light and nightly blackness. 

Logan watched the girl over his cigar while she glanced, presumably lost in thoughts, into nowhere. Her dark hair flew in gentle waves down to her shoulders and her even features had started to turn from a child's prettiness into a woman's beauty. How time flew. 

"You know, you're really grown into a pretty young lady," he acknowledged incidentally, not really intending anything. Her reaction though was amazing. Her gaze snapped to him as if in shock, just before she hastily lowered her eyes. Even in the darkness he could see her blush.

//Great// he thought angrily, //Now where did that come from?// The last thing he wanted was to intimidate the girl. To make matters worse he was totally caught off guard by her embarrassment. To handle young ladies' deep feelings was a walk on slippery ground and he was at a complete loss as to how he could eradicate his faux pas. He thought it would be better to bite his tongue before he came up with any further stupidities. 

Worried, he cast a cautious glance at the girl as she sat in the shadows of the tall chair, seeming so very small and vulnerable. In the twilight, which hid more than it revealed, there was another thing Logan noticed for the first time. As he'd seen earlier, his little friend indeed had changed but only now did he begin to realize how far-reaching the change really was. Her silence gave him the chance to look her over entirely. And by his heightened senses as well as by the experience he'd gained throughout his rough years on the road, he discovered markings on the girl others most probably would have missed. There was a sort of new aura floating around her, one Logan couldn't quite define. 

There was even a change in her scent, as if she'd grown somehow – not so much her physical body, it was more as if her inner self had shifted, or developed – maybe that was the better expression. Logan studied her sharply. She looked uneasy and soft by now, and yet she didn't. Suddenly Logan thought he saw a depth within her person that lead into chambers much too dark, much too...grim for a girl her age. As the thought materialized Logan noticed more differences between the age she was and the way she looked, and he wondered why he hadn't noticed before. How could he have missed the maturity that had crept into her dark eyes? The trace of serious expression laying on her features every time she dwelt in thoughts? Rogue had turned from the helpless run-away he'd picked up months ago into someone...else. Someone who was only half familiar to Logan, and all this had happened throughout the time he had been miles away from here. 

For the first time he considered that he might have rescued her life when it was in danger but he probably had left Rogue right in the moment when it was her soul that needed protection. Had he assumed her to be safe too soon? Had his selfish wish to find answers blinded him? Maybe it was true and he had broken his promise of taking care of her right then when she would have needed him most. Logan felt his heart ache again with the thought that he'd been unable to avert pain from this girl. Rogue's white strands shimmered like snow in the dark, uncovering memories of fear and despair within him... 

(_move...she's not moving... For god's sake...I failed....late, too late...heaven help me....my sweet ...failed...no, oh please no...so cold....no pulse...oh Lord, someone --- _help me!!) 

...A coldness beyond all earthly being crept into his heart, as he realized that Rogue had not only won something while he'd been away, there was also something missing. As Logan saw her leaning in that tall chair, shadows stressing her forms, he recognized she'd lost her childhood. Or an important part of it. And with the same certainty he knew why she had to suffer the loss. 

The heat in her cheeks slowly faded away and Rogue was grateful for that. //Now, what the hell was that for?// she thought confused. His compliment had taken her completely by surprise and if Rogue had ever thought she would understand the man next to her he had taught her otherwise. 

She looked up at him, uncertainly, hoping he would return her gaze, hoping he would not...hell, why did it have to be so complicated? Last night she'd thought she could very well go on with the knowledge that loving him was enough, being near him was enough and she didn't need him to give any more than he would. And now one flattering comment from him was enough to make her blush like a child. Words like that shouldn't touch her! Damn it, she knew he intended nothing beyond being friendly, nothing at all. //Now stop this childish behavior// she ordered herself sternly, //stop it at once// Well, it would take some practice until she got used to Logan's 'charming' self again, Rogue thought with an mental sigh, but if she was lucky enough, she'd get the time.

He chose just the right moment to interrupt her thoughts. "Rogue." 

She frowned at the grave tone of his voice and raised her eyes again. She felt her throat tighten painfully as she did. Logan was looking straight at her and his eyes literally bore into hers as if he wanted to peer directly into her soul. The sheer intensity of his gaze sent her stomach into a tight knot as she waited silently for him to speak further. Meanwhile his glance seemed to estimate her, a worried shadow covering his eyes and Rogue suddenly regretted her odd behavior deeply. She didn't want him to be worried. There was no need...

"You once told me you feel the people you touch inside your head," Logan asked quietly and she nodded, curious what he was aiming at. 

"Do you have all of their memories?"

Rogue wound one strand of her hair around her finger, thinking. "It's more the feelings they had. Pictures...and sensations. It's like seeing things through another person's eyes and experiencing those things like they would." 

"You experienced my life , too?"

Slowly it dawned on her why he had brought this topic up. Carefully she went on, locking her eyes with his, only this time her glance was steady and firm. "Yes, I did ." //You were the most intense one, to be honest//

Logan fell silent to her answer. Her words slowly seeped into his mind and confirmed his darkest fears. Oh lord have mercy, if it was true the girl had been forced to go through his own private hell. All the pain he had been struck with, the despair, the darkness and the nightmares, lord , had she gotten his nightmares, too? 

"It must have caused you a lot of...pain," he muttered, low-voiced.

"It scared me at first," she agreed. 

He turned away, not able to look into her eyes any longer. What had he done to her? What had his dark nature done to an innocent, pretty child?

"You know..." he began, huskily, "...I never wanted you to..."

"Hey!" she cut him off sharply and his glance snapped back at her as he cocked an eyebrow in surprise, "Don't you even think of feeling guilty!"

Rogue sat up in her chair and focused her eyes on him, almost sternly. "Remember, you told me you've gotten something out of our meeting? So have I." He looked at her, skeptically. 

"Of course you...what you've seen...did scare me. But it also taught me. It taught me that life could be hard, could be grim, could be hell. A-and this knowledge made me stronger. Because you're strong, Logan," she insisted, "your experiences showed me how to cope with my own life and powers." 

Her fierceness surprised him but it also removed his fear for her from him. Maybe she was overstating his role, but there really was strength in her words. Rogue's eyes were sparkling fiercely and Logan felt that she truly meant what she had said. Right that moment Logan sensed it would take a lot to ever break her. He had left a girl who had gone through many things. Now he was looking at a young person who had both feet firmly on the ground. Logan had to confess that he liked what she'd become, although he couldn't deny the glimpse of bitter-sweet sadness within him. Rogue wouldn't need his protection as much as she did in the beginning of their relationship. Maybe the girl would break away from him in time, just as young people often broke away from the friends of their childhood. "You've changed..." he said, while the shades of sorrow slowly left his eyes. 

"Yes," she answered quietly and simultaneously knew it was true, "But changes are necessary. Your courage gave me strength. You'd have given your life for me, I have to thank you for that."

"I'm not so noble," he grunted , dismissively. 

"If you say so," she returned with a soft smile. There was another pause while each of them sorted the new knowledge they'd gained. Then it was again Logan who spoke first. "You like it here?" he asked. 

Rogue smiled warmly as she thought of all the friendly people she'd gotten to know at the mansion, all the new things she'd experienced at the place she now called home. "Yes I do," she answered , "everyone's kind here. And I have a future to hope for." //A future with you// she added in thoughts. Logan puffed at his cigar once more, while Rogue sat back in her chair again, crossing her legs and smiling content. The smell of heavy tobacco mingled with the smell of the dark leather chair she sat in. 

"So what're they teachin' you here, anyway?" Logan asked after a short while, leading their chat to more everyday items. 

"Oh, all the usual stuff ya know," Rogue shrugged, "physics, literature...arts." 

"Anything useful, too?" he asked. 

Rogue chuckled and enfolded one knee with both of her arms. "I had some private lessons with Dr. Grey," she told him, "she teaches me how to handle my powers. She says I'll never really get rid of it, but if I concentrate hard I might be able to weaken it enough so I can touch someone lightly. That's if I get in control of my emotions while doin' it."

"Does it work?" Logan asked, curiously, while he held his cigar in mid-air. 

"I'm making progress," Rogue returned, evasively, "but I haven't tried it on anyone yet." In fact they had done some tests at Jean's lab, working with electrodes as test subjects, gauging her powers' activity and so on. But the truth was clear enough: Rogue never would be able to touch anyone like normal people did. Intimate physical contact was something far beyond her. Rogue felt her throat tighten at the thought, this was an old wound that still hurt and would never really heal, she knew.

"You could try on me." 

The shock almost made her fall off the chair. "What?!!" she coughed. Unbelieving, she stared at Logan, not the least bit prepared for his offer. He shrugged slightly, seemingly not concerned about giving her permission to suck the life out of him. He of all people knew best what her touch could do to living beings. 

What, had he gone insane? 

"You said you trained to control it, so why shouldn't you? And it's not like it's something new to me, anyway. Or that my _dark secrets_ would be something new to you." With no hurry Logan bent forward and stubbed the rest of his cigar out into the ash-tray. Then he sat up and started to roll up his right sleeve. Her eyes grew larger while she watched him, but as he finally held his hand out to her, Rogue shrank back from him, terrified. He said nothing but waited for her to get over her fears, as he knew she would. Just as he always seemed to know what she would do. Rogue pressed her hand to her chest, biting her lip, while she was unable to take her eyes from his frankly offered hand. Slowly, every detail sank in. She saw his knuckles, the smooth lines of his veins and the marks where his claws laid underneath his skin. A skin Rogue knew to be surprisingly soft, sort of rough in his palms and ever so warm. 

In the darkness, lit only by occasional streaks of moonlight, Rogue slowly removed her left-hand glove. The light fabric easily slid off her skin and she placed it carefully onto the chair's arm. Rogue looked up at the man in front of her one last time, questioning. 

"C'mon," Logan encouraged her with a soft whisper.

Rogue hesitantly stretched her hand out to his, silence falling around the two of them like the moon's silver tendrils of light. In that timeless moment, nothing else existed but the proximity of those two hands. Rogue's fingertips stopped a breath's length over the back of Logan's hand and remained there, wavering. She then tried a swift tip that barely even touched him. Another one, carefully. Her fingers danced lightly over his skin like snowflakes dancing in the sky. Her features softened while she tried him, exploring his hand with carefully testing movements. Finally she placed two fingertips on his skin, lightly still, but establishing a contact nonetheless. Nothing happened. All she felt was the steady rush of Logan's bloodstream...pulsing through his own veins instead of pouring into hers. She slowly withdrew her hand from him and sat back in her chair, not making a sound. She felt weightless, looking down at the hands in her lap – the one gloved, the other not. When was the last time she had removed the protecting coverings of fabric to touch someone deliberately? This had been her first physical contact initiated freely by both sides since...since, oh, so long. She had thought she'd never get the chance to feel the way one did when nothing but bodily warmth was exchanged between a pair of human hands, nothing but plain affection. Or longing. 

Tears collected in the corners of her eyes as she looked up at Logan. Did he have even an idea what he had just done for her? Rogue only saw he had leaned back in the shadows of his chair and at least for this night she wouldn't get an answer. 

"See," he said in a mixture of an idle and nonchalant voice, "that wasn't so bad at all."

A shiver ran through Rogue's whole body at his coolness and she wondered why she had let him persuade her to try such a risky thing. Because there had been a certainty in his voice that seemed to simply know she wouldn't hurt him? Ridiculous or not, she had also felt oddly certain and even now the horror of what could have happened was little more than a wan thought in the most distant corner of her mind. "I don't know what came over me to do such a thing..." she muttered in a trembling voice. 

"It worked, didn't it?" he said, retrieving another cigar from his shirt's pocket.

"Yes, but what if I..."

"No," Logan commanded relentlessly "don't think about it. Just remember this, you can overcome a lot of what you first think is impossible if you try."

"And if there are people who trust me," she added, quietly.

He hesitated for a split second. "Yeah," he agreed then, hoarsely for once, "that too, I guess."

Rogue narrowed her eyes and tried to read his features in the darkness. Could it be there was something he covered with that mask of coolness? She had no idea what he could possibly hide from her, but it made her wonder. 

"You should stop making sacrifices for me," she said at last with the lowest voice, while she cautiously put on her left-hand glove. At first he seemed at a loss for words, then Rogue saw him relax with a gentle smile, lifting his cigar up to his lips before he would give her one of his typical answers. That was when the shadow appeared.

//She's not the easy type//, Logan thought with an uneasy smile, while he clamped his cigar between his lips and searched his pockets for the lighter . He felt the shiny metal in an inner pocket of his shirt when he suddenly heard her gasp, and as he quickly looked up, he saw her eyes widen in terror as she stared at something behind his back. His right hand still around the lighter, Logan turned his head to see what the hell startled her that way. The next thing he knew, someone grabbed him by his shoulders and tossed him right over the low table in front of him. He didn't even have time to react, so his chin banged painfully onto the bare floor, followed by the whole weight of his body. The blow knocked the wind out of him and an angry growl escaped his throat, as he thumped his flat hand on the floor. 

His claws were out in a second as he spun around, teeth bared to the attacker. Logan saw a smooth shadow sliding over the chair in no time, and he welcomed it with a thrust the creature ducked easily. Watching her move, Logan remembered the scent, and he recognized the slender, dark figure before him. He reached back for a lightning punch straight between those yellow eyes, but his wrist was caught by her grip and she punched his stomach, leaving him doubled up for good. With a glowing spark in his eyes Logan sent his claws against her side but with an impossible move Mystique rolled back on the table, placed a foot on his torso and sent him flying again. This time the hit made him bite his tongue and he felt the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth. Then Rogue shrieked from behind him. Enraged he quickly wiped a hand over his lips and got back on his feet, seeing Mystique's tall figure towering above the girl. 

Rogue tried to back away from the red-haired woman as she approached her, fast as a desert snake. But one merciless strong, blue hand was around Rogue's throat before the girl could even move. Struggling for breath, Rogue felt the scarf she wore for protection rubbing at her skin under the woman's pressure. In a desperate try the girl lifted her gloved hands to grab Mystique's fore-arm, but the only thing she achieved was tightening the grip around her throat and Rogue felt herself close to fainting. Then Logan leaped at her torturer with a furious roar, tearing Mystique away with him and Rogue sank limply to the ground. 

Now Logan had the upper hand and although Mystique tried another of her deft tricks, he just pushed a heavy knee down on her to hold the woman beneath him. His left hand shot forward to close around Mystique's throat, pinning her to the floor. With glowering eyes Logan positioned his right hand high above her, clenching his fist to give his claws free way for the final stroke. Just then a yell from the doorway distracted Logan for less than the blink of an eye. Taking her chance, Mystique lifted her hand quickly and sharp nailed fingers dug into the sensitive flesh of Logan's arm. He winced at the pain and his almost defeated prey pushed herself away from him and leaped gracefully onto the table. 

"You had your victory at the statue, wild boy," she hissed, full of hatred, "now we go and take what _you_ love, ready or not." That was the moment the lights flipped on and Logan was forced to cover his eyes from the sudden dazzling brightness with his still upheld hand. When he removed it, the table was empty. 

"Where is she?" he roared as he rose with his claws unleashed. 

"What's goin' on?" Scott exclaimed snidely, his hand still on the light switch. 

Logan didn't bother answering him, instead his eyes skimmed over the room, his entire body tense. But it seemed as if the blue mutant had vanished into thin air. 

TBC


	2. Snowfall (2)

SNOWFALL (2)  
_by Murron_

pt. 5

"Fuck!" 

With a slicing sound, Logan's claws retreated. Quickly, he ran the tip of his tongue over his lips to take the blood off. //Not fast enough// he thought vaguely.

"Was that Mystique?" Ororo stammered, while she hastily tied the belt of her dressing gown. 

"We heard fighting," Scott shouted and his eyes behind the visor settled on the Wolverine. "Logan! What _the hell_ is going on here?"

Logan sniffed the air another time, then turned around and strode towards Rogue, who moaned painfully when she tried to rise from the floor. Ignoring the X-Men hustling in the background , Logan knelt down next to her, gently laying a hand on her back. "You okay, kid?" 

She looked up at him, all blood drained from her cheeks, and rubbed her mistreated throat. "Yeah...yeah, I think," she whispered with a raspy, faint voice. He nodded shortly and carefully took Rogue's arm to help her up. 

"Answer me!" Scott inquired sternly , "Was it Mystique who attacked you ? What did she want?"

"Shut up!" Logan yelled at the X-Men's leader, "Just tell me how the fuck she got in here!" 

Jean pushed her way around Scott, who was still blocking the doorway and hurried to Rogue. With a couple of quick glances she checked the girl for injuries and Logan left Rogue in the doctor's hands. 

"She must have tricked our security systems," Scott said firmly, his lips a thin white line, "but that's not the problem now."

"Yeah?! Then what exactly _is_ the problem, kiddo?" Logan stiffened and his eyes flared up with dark anger. 

"Get a grip," Scott snapped, "it's important for us to know what she intended, if she found what she was searching for or if she's still inside the mansion."

Logan just scowled at Scott, his eyes narrowed into grim slits. The air between the two men seemed to sizzle with electricity. Then Logan pressed two fingers against the bridge of his nose and clenched his eyes shut. 

"No..." he growled deeply, "no, she's not here anymore."

"How can you be sure?" 

"She wanted me," Logan shot a glance to his left, where Jean was removing Rogue's scarf, "She was looking for revenge."

"She wanted to kill you," Scott said .

"I dunno," Logan murmured, "she said something about...taking the ones I value most." Immediately it dawned on him and his glance flew to Rogue again, a cold hand gripping his very heart. The same instant everyone else hesitated and all their gazes settled on the young woman, whose eyes had widened at the realization. 

"So they finally took action," Scott said when the shock had settled at last. A sorrowful shadow had crept on Ororo's face as she exchanged a worried look with Jean. The doctor's features grew firm and she turned to Rogue's throat again, continuing her examination. Logan stared grimly at the two women next to him, slicing blue, scaly mutants into handy strips in his thoughts.

"We trusted too much that they would be weak as long as their leader was in custody," Scott murmured angrily, "I think that as long as any of them is at large they'll be a threat." 

"So why don't we just go and kill the bastards?" Logan demanded, ready to stab anything. 

"No, we wait," Scott said, looking straight at Logan "and give them the chance to make their next move. So, you can help work on the defense systems, just in case they will try it again." And with a dismayed look he added: "There's other ways than slicing every thing into half, you know that?"

It was like a slap in Logan's face. An astonished silence followed those words and the Wolverine had to listen twice, to be sure he'd heard right. 

"What bullshit are you handing me, bub?" he finally flared up. "If we..."

"If _you_ switched on your brain once in a while," Scott shot back, very well prepared for this, " then maybe we could get things under control. If we stay sharp, the Brotherhood will show up and we can wipe them out in one shot."

"That's the plan?" Logan asked, dangerously low-voiced, and his fists clenched slowly. Ororo was almost sure she saw his claws press against the skin between his knuckles and hot fear made her heart stop. 

"We might miss something if we act too rashly," Scott continued, seemingly not the least thrown by the obvious threat against him, "I say we send all of them to jail... . But for now we stay at the mansion, where we can defend ourselves against them the best way possible." He fixed Logan with his beaming red stare, captured by the visor. "We will not let them lure us out again, will we?"

"I'm sure Logan won't do anything that might endanger Rogue's safety," Ororo hurried to come between the two men. As if looking for confirmation, the goddess of weather turned to Logan. Yet the fierce mutant didn't even see her and Ororo was sure he was going to leap for Scott's throat any second now. 

But Logan just glared at the X-Men's leader instead, neither moving nor raising his voice: " I doubt they've gathered all their forces yet and they won't be prepared for a counterblow. Any good strategist would attack while the enemy is still weak."

Scott's visor flashed in a bright red as he winced just a little at the other man's intruding speech. "Too bad the decision is mine to make," the team's leader said, not breaking eye contact with Logan. "You obey my orders or you leave, understand?" Not waiting for an answer he wouldn't be getting anyway, Scott spun on his heel and walked brusquely out of the room. There was an oppressive moment of silence after his leaving, while even the students, who had gathered behind the room's entry, held their collective breath. 

"Fucking little piece of shit, " Logan finally swore and his face deformed into a grimace of disgust. Ororo didn't know if she should feel relieved as the dark-haired man turned away from the doorway and settled down on one knee in front of Rogue, who was now sitting on a small stool. Ororo could only guess that Logan had seen the wisdom in Scott's plan, otherwise Cyclops would now presumably be breathing through three brand-new holes in his chest, wouldn't he? With an uneasy expression she turned to the students and extended her hands to send them away. "Go to bed again," she ordered quietly, "all of you." The youngsters obeyed without a word of protest, exchanging confused looks. Meanwhile the dark-skinned woman glanced back over her shoulder to see Logan watching Jean as she spoke softly to Rogue. 

~~~

Logan trudged up and down in his room, seething with rage, cursing the entire Brotherhood, the one-eyed prick who called himself a leader and most of all, Logan cursed himself. He growled senseless stuff under his breath, while he clenched his fist, opened it again, clenched it twice...

(..._if you switched on your brain_..._)_

Logan stopped in the middle of his room, threw his head back and pressed his eyes shut. He shouldn't have done that. Immediately the blue face with its yellow eyes appeared in his mind. He should have shut those cursed eyes with his fist forever. He should have punched the hell out of the scaly bitch, but as a matter of fact, he'd sensed her too late. He hadn't sensed her creeping up on him at all. His heightened senses had totally abandoned him just the way Logan had failed in the confrontation with Cyclops. 

What the hell was he doing here, anyway? Stalking around like an idiot, letting himself caught napping by a smelly blue chameleon. He'd always instinctively known how to react to situations but since he had walked into the entrance hall of this mansion everything went...twisted, and Logan felt as if he was about to lose control of everything. 

An angry spark danced in his eyes as Logan stared out the window. It had begun to snow again and everything more than five meters away from the window was lost in darkness. Logan snorted sharply. He should get out of here, the Wolverine should just get the hell out, swing a leg over fucking One-eye's bike and get out of here. But as soon as Logan thought of it, he knew he wouldn't do it . Maybe he would have been able to turn his back on this place when he had been up north, but the moment he had decided to come back the die had been cast. 

Logan started another round of trudging just to stop in front of a wall, laying one hand on it as if he needed support. He remained there for a minute or two, staring at the ground, then he pushed himself off the wall and crossed the room to sit down on the edge of his bed. After another minute of silence Logan clasped his hands and propped both of his elbows on his thighs. With a sinister black look staring straight ahead he rested his chin onto his folded hands. 

The moment had come, he could no longer afford to ignore the spiteful voices whispering in his head. Fact was, he knew why he hadn't been able to track Mystique. He knew it oh so well. In a staccato rhythm Logan tipped his thumbs against the bottom of his chin. 

(..._C'mon_...)

His breath glided across his stiffened knuckles, as light as a feather brushing against them, as light as snow, as gentle as her delicate, little fingers stroking them...feeling a tingle of electricity running down his neck, Logan squeezed his eyes shut. To put it quite bluntly, his senses hadn't warned him of the threat because they had been entirely occupied by the smell, the sight and the touch of one intriguing, ever so beautiful young woman. Logan had not been aware of the enemy because all he'd been able to see was _her_ soft form, the female curves which had suddenly seemed so very striking to him and her hand, which had only just touched him. If he had been able to think straight, Logan would have been nothing but grateful for the nightly shadows that had hidden his features. No one would have missed the tumult raging in his eyes. 

He'd said it wouldn't be new to him. He couldn't have been more wrong. The moment her fingers had reached him, he'd felt a shiver running through his whole being, making him feel muscles he never even knew existed. Fifteen years on the road and only god knew how many more of them weighing on Logan's back, and he hadn't been in the least prepared for the tender caress of her fingertips. He'd never felt his heart stopping or starting to beat again, pounding louder and faster than any time before, pumping the urge to tear the girl leaning across from him into his arms through his hot blood. 

Logan winced in pain at the memory, feeling dirty all over for just imagining it. Let her touch him...what had gotten into him to suggest a thing like that? Yeah, if he'd used his brain he wouldn't have thought of it. At first Logan had pretended he did it with the intention to ease his conscience, to at least make up for some of the pain he'd caused her. But the closer she'd come he'd realized he wanted her to touch him. He yearned for it, not to please her but to only please himself. He had been caught by the dark light in her eyes, a spell that made him forget who and even where he was. The urge had torn him away in an immense white explosion. It had created something new inside him, something unsettling. He could still feel it... . The longing to grasp her hands, gloved or not, to pull her against him and to press his lips on her hair, her brow, her lips... 

"No," he gasped and buried his face in his shaking hands. This was all wrong! She was still a child...

//Oh, really? Consider this, pal // a tempting voice inside his head whispered, //she's more than grown up since you left. And with your experiences inside her she's much more than she ought to be. So why...// 

Logan clenched his teeth and silenced the obtrusive voice. No, he couldn't think like that. Drawing his hands back from his face, Logan slowly lay back on his bed. The ceiling looked silently down at him as he stared up. For a moment, Logan thought he saw _her_ eyes up there...sparkling like black diamonds in the gloom. 

His fingers reached underneath his collar and fished the quietly jingling tags out of his shirt. Still staring at the ceiling Logan lifted his hand and put the two fingers holding the tags to his lips. There was her scent again, rising from the tags she'd worn while she'd been sleeping, studying, crying or laughing. Logan pressed his lips to the metal before he enclosed it in his fist. At this moment he knew he was a cursed man. The night embraced him with all its dismal beauty. 

//Where's this going to end?// Logan asked himself, closing his eyes, trying to think of nothing, trying to sleep...

~~~

January 26th 

"So what do you think I should wear? My green pullover? The white cardigan, maybe?" 

Kitty almost hopped with every word, her eyes sparkling gleefully like those of a child served a huge bowl of chocolate ice-cream.

"Why don't you try the violet blouse we bought last week?" Rogue suggested while she watched her excited friend with an amused look. Just finished with their geography lesson, the girls were walking down the main corridor. The good weather had held throughout the whole week and now that it was Saturday everyone was excited to have some leisure time in the mansion's park. The youngest had scooted to their rooms to fetch their gloves and jackets right after the bell had ended the day's last lesson. Most of the older students started their weekend more leisurely. A group of boys was watching deft card tricks as Kitty and Rogue walked by. Rogue cast a glance at the boys and smiled, as the player let one of the cards disappear with lightning quick hands. 

"Yes!" Kitty gushed out with bright eyes, obviously imagining herself in the chosen outfit. Then she seemed to hesitate, an earnest expression whizzing over her face. "You think he likes violet?" the girl asked, frowning . 

"He likes it on you," Rogue said gently and Kitty was all smiles again. One of their classmates, on whom Kitty had had a crush for over five weeks by now, had just asked Rogue's friend to go to a movie with him. And since tonight was the night, Kitty was as nervous as...well more nervous than anything Rogue could think of. 

The girls were discussing what shoes one should wear with a violet blouse when they were interrupted by a student, coming towards them. "Rogue!" he shouted and the two girls looked at him as he approached. 

"You've got mail," he informed Rogue as he reached her, and searched through the pile of letters.

"Me?" Rogue asked, honestly surprised.

"Yep," the student confirmed, as he picked one of the letters out of the pile and handed it to Rogue. With a shrug in Kitty's direction, Rogue tucked her books under one arm and took the piece of paper from the boy. She looked curiously down at the simple, white envelope, turning it to see who the sender might be. 

~~~

Logan stood on one of the balconies, surveying the snowy park-scenery below him. Some kids down there were in the middle of a snowball-fight and it looked very much as if the group to his right was about to win. Just as one of the boys got a fat snowball straight in his face, someone gave a little cough from behind Logan's back. The dark-haired man turned away from the battle' and leaned his back against the balustrade. In front of him stood an all too obviously excited Rogue. Logan's lips curved into a faint smile. How could her eyes be so wise and dark, like pools wherein men might lose their souls - and the next moment be as innocent as a flower. If there were any gods ruling over men's fate they'd played him a sad trick by tying him to a mysterious angel like her. 

Rogue looked at Logan and tried to smile. There was something weighing her down, he sensed immediately, and she was turning to him with her sorrow. It didn't surprise him. 

Throughout the last few days their relationship had returned to the state it had been before his departure. Their bond had even grown a bit tighter, both a little more familiar with each other. They could talk together like old friends, tease each other or share memories of events only the two of them had experienced. He told her about his months up north – and often she would chuckle, when he cocked an eyebrow and wailed over his many misfortunes (her favorite was the story about the rascal stealing his gloves and dinner). She told him about what she'd learned, whom she'd made friends with and she would share the school's latest gossip with him. 

But although they'd gotten closer in a way, an invisible wall had been built between them. It was a boundary Logan himself had created and which he wouldn't cross. He didn't think Rogue was aware of it, so he could be pretty sure it wouldn't hurt her. Not the way it hurt him. It was difficult to overhear the treacherous voices whispering temptations in his ear, but Logan somehow managed to ignore them most of the time when anyone – especially Rogue herself - was around. Not only because he was a master at ignoring his feelings, but also because the only other possibility was to leave her, and that was the one thing he couldn't do. Apart from telling her the truth. Logan knew, if he told her about the feelings he had in his lonely hours, Rogue would hate him for that. She would undoubtedly despise him and that would kill him. Or even worse, leave him to live a life with the knowledge of her loathing. So he'd chosen the wall between them, for his own safety and hers. It was best that way. For her, Logan knew, he was just like a big brother and he would do the job as best he could. 

"Morning, kid," he said. 

"Morning," she greeted back and took the few steps towards him. "Slept well?" she asked, presumably trying to maintain some convention instead of just blurting out the thing gnawing at her. 

"Like a stone," he replied and watched with amusement as she glanced at the snowball kids with a strained look of concentration. 

"Anything I should know?" Logan asked finally, no longer capable of letting her suffer so badly. 

As if she had been waiting for that question, she spun around and quickly pulled a white envelope out of her pocket. "I got mail today," Rogue told him, her voice almost trembling with excitement, "it's from my Mom and Dad."

Logan arched an eyebrow, surprised at the news, as he took the envelope from her. On its back was an address written in neat letters. "How do they know you're here?" Logan asked. 

"I wrote them," Rogue explained, still looking unbelievingly at the envelope, "a week ago, I think. Wanted them to know I'm alright. I...I didn't expect to get an answer." It really seemed to stir her up. Logan carefully gave the envelope back to her. "And what do they have to say?" he asked. 

"They' re here!" Rogue exclaimed, clutching the envelope fiercely, "In New York. They came to meet me. Their plane must have arrived already."

With growing astonishment Logan stared at her. "Meet you? At the mansion?" he asked. 

"No," Rogue shook her head, "they want to meet me at a diner down at the harbor. At 5:30 p.m.– oh Logan, isn't that wonderful?"

"Whoa, hold your horses, kid," he tried to slow her down and frowned, "you say they want to meet you outside the mansion?"

"Yes, but-"

"No way." 

"Logan," her look turned pleading, "if I don't go, they'll think I don't want to see them."

"So you tell them to come here, meet you at the mansion." 

"I can't! They're already here in New York, how could I reach them?" 

"Then call them when they're back South again," Logan said harshly, "You won't go anywhere outside the mansion on your own as long as I have a say in it."

"You could come along with me," she suggested. All he did was arch a brow. "C'mon, we haven't seen a sign of the Brotherhood in days and even the professor says he senses no threats nearby," Rogue tried to persuade him, "and you can protect me. You can beat anyone." 

"Summers would never allow you to go," Logan reminded her.

"He doesn't have to know," she prompted. For a moment, Logan really seemed to consider her proposal, then he spun around and growled deeply: "No, no way. We won't go anywhere."

"If you don't help me, I might as well sneak out on my own," Rogue challenged, defiantly. 

"I'd like to see how you do that when you're tied to a chair," Logan shot back. A wiser woman would have left it with that. But Rogue no longer let Logan's bark scare her off. So she squared her shoulders and played her last card. "Logan..." she begged in a deep, sad voice, "please, you have to understand. It's so very important for me. I could finally deal my past and...see, I just have the feeling this is the only chance I'll ever get."

No answer and he still didn't look at her. 

"Logan..." she tried once more, "pleeze..." 

He growled. He hesitated. Then Logan brusquely turned and headed off the balcony with long, determined strides. Rogue watched his back and waited. At the doorway he stopped, thumbs hooked in his belt. "See that your scarf covers that cheeky nose of yours," he snapped , "we take Cyke's machine."

With that he strode off and left Rogue behind with a triumphant smile on her face. 

pt. 6

Despite the icy - cold wind whistling across the docks, a silvery gull glided across the gray sea that sloshed against the pier. With graceful flaps the bird pushed itself forward. Once in a while it paused, its wings spread, and drifted some meters backward with the squall. The next moment it went back to struggle again, unflagging like a swimmer against the current. One less combative sea bird sat on a post at the pier and watched with obsidian eyes as the lonely duo walked by. Mud was squeaking uncomfortably underneath their feet with every step. What once had been the whitest snow had turned into a slushy, colorless mass on the harbor's asphalt. 

"Can you tell me why of all the places in this goddamned city your folks chose a diner at the harbor?" Logan muttered, his hands buried deeply into his fur lined leather jacket. Rogue chuckled softly and raised a hand to push some strands of her hair, which the wind was tugging at wildly, back behind her ear. Throughout their walk on the docks the girl had spoken rarely and Logan guessed it was a result of her nervousness. 

"How do they know this place, anyway?" Logan asked, trying to make conversation to distract Rogue from her tenseness. As the young woman answered, she folded her gloved hands in front of her. "My father worked in New York four years ago," she told Logan, "he's a lawyer for an electronics firm, you know. When my dad worked here, he used to call us every evening at 6:30. My mum and me waited in the kitchen most times, while my mother prepared dinner and I would read magazines or do some homework." The look in her eyes had become inscrutable while she spoke, but Logan thought he saw them moisten. 

"You do miss them, huh?" he asked Rogue with a side-look at her. 

"I don't know..." Rogue confessed in a small voice "Sometimes I feel like crying when I think of them, other times they seem such a small part of me. As if they belonged to another life I lived long ago. Does that sound reasonable?" 

Logan nodded solemnly. He knew such paradoxes all too well. A few meters away from him the gull was again pushing against the wind. Logan followed the bird's useless flaps with grim eyes. Life's a goddamned struggle.

"I don't know which one is me," Rogue said evenly at his side, "if I am Rogue, the mutant, or Marie, my parents' daughter. Or maybe I'm both. I don't know." She fell silent for a moment while her hair was fluttering around her face, hiding her features like a dancing veil. Logan watched her for a while out of the corner of his eyes, then forced himself to look straight ahead. 

"I'm afraid that I'll wake up someday and find I no longer know who I am," Rogue eventually went on, "sometimes it's so difficult to decide which part is me and which are the foreign essences I adopted. That's why it's so important for me to meet my parents." She pushed her hands into her coat pockets and lowered her eyes as she spoke, "Since I ran away from home I feel like there's a gap in my life. It's like a broken circle I can't fix. But I believe if I can meet my parents, if I can talk to them, I might be able to fill that gap. I might find out who I am...or who I'm going to be from now on."

They walked on and the snow crunched steadily beneath their feet. Not for the first time Logan asked himself where they were headed. What could life offer two people who had suffered so many wounds? They were both haunted souls. But maybe at least for her there was a future not framed with darkness. He quietly decided that if he had to trade away his soul for the knowledge of her happiness, he would do so. She had been the first good thing that had happened to him in a _very_ long time and he wouldn't allow anything to destroy her. 

Hell, when had he become so pathetic?

The wind dropped at that point, so Logan's words sounded almost sharply into the cold. "I told you I didn't find anything at Alkali Lake," he began quietly, his face remaining an inscrutable mask, "and at times I thought, the anger at finding only dead-ends would drive me insane. Before I met the professor I'd almost resigned to the fact that my past would stay lost. But after he showed me a chance to possibly find some answers..." his voice trailed off before he continued, "Seeing new hopes die again is difficult."

Rogue lifted her head and looked at him, surprised by the darkness that had crept into his eyes. Once again, she was truly glad that he didn't know how much his glances could tell her by now. Unlike the others who were around him, she long since had learned how to get a glimpse of his soul's voice in his eyes. Yes, fortunately he did not know, because he would definitely not like it. Now she sensed such a vast desolation inside him, she thought it would break her heart. "I'm so sorry," she whispered but Logan went on without responding to her: "But there were other times I was glad I didn't find anything."

Rogue gave him a puzzled glance: "Why?"

"Because I have the feeling there are things in the years I can't recall, things I'd rather stay hidden," he answered. The life he remembered was dirty enough. There was no good reason to think there wasn't more darkness in the life he couldn't recall. It was Logan's deepest fear, one he never had intended to share with anyone. Now the words left his tongue as easily as a summer-breeze drifted from the sea. 

"That's why I've been up there so long. I had to decide if I should go on searching for the man that was me in the distant past, or if I should search for a future." Rogue felt the urge to say something but then changed her mind and stayed silent. She realized what the speech she'd just heard meant. It was an avowal of the lone, dark man no one else would ever hear.

"What did you decide?" Rogue asked after a while. 

"I came back here," he replied simply, "I figured it was better to not go chasing after a shadow but live the life I have now." 

Rogue swallowed. "You think despite the gaps, somebody could enjoy life?"

"Might be," he shrugged, "I just know if you've lost your memory once you value every detail. All the scents, the sights, the tastes and the things that happen to you – it's all precious. But this sense of value comes from the loss. See, memories are so very important to me because I feel everyday how it is to lose them. It's a sad experience."

"Is that why you agreed to bring me here?" Rogue asked quietly. 

"I lost the trail of my past more than fifteen years ago. You have the chance to cut ties with your former life. Once you do, it won't haunt you any longer," he said, "You should always remember the place you came from and not hide from it. It's not good to someday find out that you were afraid to look back." He snorted and buried his hands even deeper inside his jacket pockets. "Yeah, that's why I went along with this crazy excursion of yours."

"And because I'm amazingly good at wrapping hairy, old fur-faces round my little finger, too?" she teased, suddenly wanting the shadow on his face to disappear and see him smile again. He _deserved_ to smile. Since he'd come back from Alkali, the smile only rarely reached his eyes if he smiled at all. Rogue didn't know what sorrows he tried to hide behind his many masks, but she wished desperately for a way to get behind his tight walls. But since he was Logan, harmless spats was all she would get. Well, it was better than nothing... 

Logan scowled at her, fighting an already lost battle to keep his face serious and stern. "Don't you dare try and get cheeky with me," he growled. 

"I wouldn't dare," she snickered. 

~~~

Ororo sipped absently at the half filled mug she held in her left hand and instantly pulled a face as the brew reached her tongue.

"Cold..." she muttered and placed the mug back on the desk with a disgusted look. The computer screen in front of her was filled with seemingly endless tables and passages, quoting from several historical reference books. Ororo let the cursor whiz over the screen and marked some of the passages, searching for material she could use for the history test she was preparing for her class. She only hoped her students would be better prepared for the Roman emperors than they had been for the Grecian philosophers. With a sigh the dark skinned woman copied one of the tables into a personal file. 

A knock at her door announced a visitor shortly before Scott stepped into Ororo's room. He carried two steaming mugs and brought them cautiously towards Ororo's desk.

"Scott," she greeted him. 

"Hot coffee," he said and placed one of the mugs next to his teammate's keyboard, "Thought you'd need one."

"Thank you," Ororo smiled.

"The emperors?" he asked.

"All of them," she confirmed with a resigned sigh escaping her lips. She reached out to grab the mug and closed her fingers around it with relish. "How're Jean and the professor?" she asked, knowing that Scott had just called his fiancé. 

"Both well," he said while he pulled up a chair and perched across from Ororo, "Jean's going to give her lecture this afternoon and she said the people seemed to act...open-minded."

"Let us hope they will carry on with that during her lecture," Ororo said grimly.

Scott nodded affirmatively. "The professor wanted to check if everything was going smoothly here."

"Everything seems normal," Ororo shrugged, "apart from a bleeding nose I had to fix after that glorious snowball fight in the courtyard."

A swift smile crossed Scott's lips. "And the Brotherhood hasn't shown up, either," he said, relieved. 

"Most probably they do not dare venture into the mansion", Ororo agreed. 

"I've got our security systems reworked," Scott told her, "if they plan another visit we'll be prepared. And more than that." The soft glow of his visor was the only sign of anxiety upon Scott's face. 

There was another soft knock at Ororo's door. "Come in!" she called and Bobby Drake stepped reluctantly over the threshold. 

"I didn't mean to interrupt," he said shyly.

"It's alright, Bobby," Ororo encouraged him, "What's up?"

"It's nothing important, I just wondered if you knew where Rogue was?" he asked and Ororo frowned. "I thought she was with Logan," the boy continued, "but I can't find him either."

Ororo stared in shock at her leader who had jumped up as if something had bitten him. "No," he swore and rushed out in a furious dash repeating the word "No" in one single cursing catechism. 

Ororo followed Scott quickly, knowing she had been struck by the same fear as her leader. She prayed they were wrong, but her hopes shattered as Ororo heard Scott Summers' cry from the end of the corridor, where the garages attached to the building. 

"The fucking son of a bitch!!!" 

As Ororo hurried through the door, she found Scott cursing and swearing while he bent over a metallic box. She saw immediately what had made her leader flare up that way: where once Scott Summer's black motorcycle had stood was an empty space - again. 

"He...he wouldn't ...he cannot..." Ororo stammered in disbelief.

"Oh yes, he can," Scott raved as he spun around, carrying a heavy black case in front of him. "Logan, the maverick. Logan, the goddamned _desperado_," he spat while he hoisted the case onto one of the cars' bonnets and flipped its lid open. To her surprise Ororo recognized the case as a tracking device. 

"Hairy bastard thinks he can scrounge my bike again, does he?" Scott growled grimly and switched the system on. One week was time enough to install some extras' on one precious vehicle you refused to lose twice. 

"I cannot believe he did such a stupid thing," Ororo shook her head, "The Brotherhood had threatened him and Rogue especially. Why would he want to endanger the girl?"

"I don't know," Scott mumbled, "but I promise I will squeeze some answers out of him as soon as I get him within reach of my visor."

pt. 7

Rogue idly stirred her tea with a little spoon. The golden liquid sent miniature waves against the cup's edge and lazily followed the spoon's moves. For the fifth time, Rogue cast a glance at the clock hanging above the bar.

"Easy girl," Logan advised her, "we're still fifteen minutes early."

Rogue exhaled deeply and propped her chin up on her palm. "I used to be someone who always was late for appointments, did you know that?" she told him. 

"That's one nasty habit, Miss," Logan smiled and absently rubbed his thumb over the ceramic mug before him. The diner was a cozy little place at the harbor's promenade. Logan and Rogue had chosen a table right behind the diner's large window so Rogue's parents would be able to see them as soon as they arrived. 

"Do you think Scott will be very mad at us?" Rogue asked, not really caring.

"He'll gripe around for a few days and glare a little through his pretty glasses," Logan shrugged, "that's all." 

He comfortably leaned back in his chair and laid both hands onto its arms. He really could use a cigar but from above the bar stared a "no smoking" sign and Logan didn't want to embarrass the girl. Especially when she was about to meet her parents. He was pondering what sort of people Rogue's folks might be. Obviously they hadn't coped well with the "having-a-mutant-in-family" business. They couldn't have been much support if Rogue had thought it necessary to run away from them. Logan only hoped for their sake they would be a lot more sensitive this time. 'Cause no one would hurt Marie as long as he was around, parents or not. 

"I'm glad, you know," she said.

"About what?"

She caught his eye and Logan met the earnest look which bemused him so often.

"Glad that you came with me," she said.

"Never mind, kid," he said shortly. 

Rogue furrowed her brows slightly at this and went on: "Even if there wasn't a Brotherhood, Logan. I wouldn't want anyone else at my side during this meeting..." She stopped abruptly, red roses blooming instantly on her cheeks. "I mean...it wouldn't..." A curtain of dark hair flowed in waves around her features as she stared down at her cup again, "Thank you...for everything."

"Yeah, alright." He couldn't think of anything else to say. Maybe another man would have come up with something more fitting. But Logan was...well, Logan, and so he just watched her, treasuring every detail in his memory. 

He never had been a man of many words nor had he had a sense for poetry. But in moments like this, when her lashes hid the sparkling of her eyes sparsely enough to make a man wonder what secret worlds might dwell behind the swirl of color and shade... in moments like this all the poems and lyrics made sense. 

Her slender fingers played absently with the spoon's stem as Logan watched her. He found he couldn't even get his eyes off an ordinary movement like that. That realization made Logan nervous as hell. He was tied to this young woman in every way a man could think of. There was no escape. Sometimes he would wake up in the middle of the night, wishing she was there to hold his head in her lap. Other times he wanted nothing more than to hold her in his arms and feel her soft breathing against his throat. And why did he feel that way? Could anyone tell him why?

"I should stop getting melodramatic," Rogue sighed and laid her spoon aside. 

"Nah, just go on practicing," Logan said with a crooked smile and leaned forward to place his folded hands onto the table. She wryly cocked her eyes at him and Logan's smile widened. 

A waitress passed their table and the little chimes above the diner's entry signaled the opening of the door. Rogue craned her neck to look past Logan. He cast a quick glance over his shoulder but the leaves of an indoor palm blocked his view. A moment later a young woman in a short, white coat crossed the room and sat down next to a fairly good looking guy who welcomed her with a delighted smile. 

Rogue turned back to her cup, obviously disappointed. 

Logan on the other side didn't really want the girl's folks to hurry up. Reasonable or not, his treacherous self didn't want this gentle togetherness to end too soon. The sweet smell of the tea mingled with her perfume in the air around him and Logan felt his senses leisurely melt into the sensation.

"Logan..." her soft voice brought back reality. //Come back to earth, old man// Logan ordered himself – but not without a pang of regret. Practiced as he was, he had no difficulties in maintaining a blank expression as he looked at the young woman's lowered head. 

"We are friends, aren't we?" she asked. 

"Sure."

"Then may I ask you something...as a friend?"

A whole battery of red alert signs seemed to flash up inside Logan's mind. //Careful//, he told himself //you're far to close to the wall, my friend//. His brows furrowed slightly and Logan closed his right hand around the mug in front of him. "Go ahead."

As if she suddenly had came to a decision, Rogue tensed and looked up at him. Her eyes sparkled like they had on that one special evening back in the mansion. Rogue studied his face, probably having some grave words on her tongue but didn't speak yet. She needed encouragement, but, lord, Logan was not in the position to give any support. With a quick move of her tongue, the young woman moistened her lips and her eyes broke the contact as she slowly lifted her left hand from the table. She hesitated for a swift moment, then Rogue reached out her left to lay it on Logan's hand in a trusting gesture. 

His hand flinched back before he knew it. He barely even realized what he had done. Time itself seemed to freeze, while Rogue's gloved hand remained in mid air above the empty place where Logan's hand had rested a second ago. Seeing, really seeing, what was going on, Logan's eyes widened in shock and self-blame, but it was too late. Rogue stared at him in disbelief. Slowly she moved back from him and in the look of her golden-brown eyes Logan saw her break. 

//What have I done?// he thought, horrified. 

That was the moment she could no longer bear to look in his eyes. Rogue's fingers curled into a tight fist and she quickly hid her hand under the tabletop, lowering her glance, dreadfully ashamed. She blamed herself for his rejection! At the end, the one who pretended to be her truest friend had shrank back from her touch as if from a disgusting disease. 

Logan's face deformed into an expression of pain. //No//, he winced, struggling despairingly for words to withdraw what he just had done. How could he explain to her that it had only been his own foolish weakness? He'd put on an act for her and his charade now had led the two of them into a disaster. Had he really thought he could go on endlessly, pretending she was nothing but a charge to him? He'd fooled himself. 

And it was she who had to pay. 

Logan opened his mouth helplessly, but it seemed like all the words inside his throat had died.

Usually his heightened senses were an advantage. Now they only made things worse. Logan wished they would fail as they had nights ago, but they didn't. The smell of the tea, the smell of her hurt tears, it all flooded toward him mercilessly. There was no way of shutting his senses to this. The air around him was full of her suffering and it was full of...

Logan stiffened. A soft breeze brushed against his ear as someone left the diner. The voices around him came more clearly as he pricked his ears. Snatches of conversation drifted toward him...

..._did you know about that accident last week_...

..._no, I really think I shouldn't_...

..._maybe buy at Millers'_...

..._who are you kidding_!...

Logan heard the woman with the white coat laugh clearly and smelled her companion's cigarette. He even heard the ticking of the clock above the bar. The diner was full of pulsing life, each with its own scent and identification. Within seconds Logan's expression had turned dark and tense. "Rogue..." he said in a low, raspy voice, but before he could speak further, pleasant words sounded from Logan's right side.

"Are you happy with your coffee or is there anything else I can do you for?" 

He flinched just a little to see the white, starched apron of the waitress out of his eye's corner. The chimes above the entry jingled again and a light spark from the bar shot through the room. Logan's hand, which had been around the mug, clenched slowly into a fist. His ears twitched as more shrill laughter cut through the diner's constant noises and his muscles tensed.

"Mister, is there anything else I can do f..."

In one fluid move his claws snikt out and Logan's arm shot in a wide arc to his side. Glass shattered and shards spread out in a glittering rainbow as the glasses crashed down to the floor. The waitress stumbled backwards with horror reflected in her eyes, pressing her paled hands tightly against her chest. Rogue gave a shrill shriek as heads turned into the small groups' direction, the little table all at once the focus of all the attention. 

Logan moved more agile than eyes could follow, leaping to his feet and tossing his chair against the young waitress. 

"Logan, what a..." Rogue started, horrified, as the woman ducked under the furniture, but the words went dry in her mouth as the waitress straightened up again. Blue shimmering scales crept over the formerly blond woman's body and soon covered her whole form. Yellow eyes were glowing, the black pupils made them lose all their human likeness. With an angry hiss Mystique went for a counterattack. Quick as lightning the chameleon bounced off the floor and landed on the table between Logan and Rogue. A kick in his back made Logan stumble forward before he spun around with darkest eyes and clutched one of the blue legs. 

"Marie, out," he snarled and pulled the blue female down the tabletop with a quick move. Just in time he managed to raise an arm to block a second kick with his wrist. 

"Marie!" he bellowed, seeing the girl still hesitate, "get out !!!" Shaking off her paralysis, the young woman stared wide eyed at Logan for another second, then stumbled numbly past the fighting couple. 

Logan got a grip of Mystique's upper arm and pulled her up. Rogue whirled around, her confused eyes searching for the diner's door as she moved, terrified. One of the fleeing guest bumped directly into Rogue and she had to struggle for balance, while more and more people around her pushed towards the exit. She supported herself on a chair before she straightened up again and was promptly shoved forward. She felt herself pulled away helplessly, when a giant shadow suddenly blocked her view. Another shriek got stuck in Rogue's throat as she literally ran into the towering shape that seemed to appear out of nowhere. 

The malodorous smell of moldering pelt filled the air around her and made her stomach roll. 

This was a nightmare. It had to be.

In a daze, Rogue heard Logan call her name, but all her attention was caught by the enormous beast in front of her. Obsidian eyes stared down at the young woman and an evil grin exposed predatory fangs. Those black pools where eyes should be, Rogue knew them so very well. The cruelty behind the feral features...the threat...

Hot fear exploding in her gut, Rogue flinched back and tried to escape. The man in front of her moved and one strong arm flung Rogue across the diner against the bar. The small of her back crashed painfully, her arm was pressed between a stool and her own body. Terrified people backed away from her and rushed towards the door, screaming. Still lying at the foot of the bar, Rogue felt her shoulder grow numb instantly. Unable to come up from the ground, she watched as Sabretooth stalked towards Logan and Mystique. 

Mystique raised her free arm, but Logan caught it easily and threw her into a group of indoor palms. Blood was tickling down his cheek where her claws had left some dark red streaks. 

The heat inside him made his blood seethe. After all those weeks stuffed with new, bewildering feelings this was one emotion he knew absolutely well. A sardonic grin darkened his face as he clenched his fists more fiercely and welcomed the pain of adamantium against bare skin.

He was about to seize her up one last time, when his senses picked up another presence behind him. He felt someone approaching but wasn't quick enough to turn. Then he was lifted high up in the air. He smelled the sharp stench of rotten pelt and growled, enraged with recognition. 

Rogue found herself again torn away with the other guests. Over her shoulder she saw Sabretooth hoisting Logan high over his head like a rag doll. She wanted to help, but a much stronger impulse commanded her to run. Before she knew it, her shaking hand was fumbling for the doorframe and Rogue rushed out. 

Sabretooth thrust his load straight through the whole diner. Logan hit one of the tables and the wood splintered under his weight. Unable to move, Logan felt as if the wood was not the only thing that splintered. Something cut painfully in his cheek and once more he smelled his own blood. A shadow fell over him and two brutal hands grasped him by his shirt's collar to seize him off the floor. A moment later Logan looked straightly into a pair of dull, black eyes. Well, what a pleasant encounter. Shouldn't this guy lay in a cozy, dark morgue?

"You're quite sturdy, ain't ya?" Logan mumbled. 

"Sturdier than you," Sabretooth smiled and tossed Logan through the diner's glass facade. 

~~~

Her heels spurted gray snow splashes into the air as Rogue ran through a narrow lane, not looking left or right. One especially slippery lump of snow made her soles lose their hold and she stumbled forward. Only the support of a nearby wall prevented her from falling. Dull pain shot through her shoulder at the harsh move. Trembling all over, Rogue leaned against that wall and squeezed her eyes shut. Her gloved hands were shaking as she pressed them against the cold concrete. The first of many tears escaped from under her lids. Pain and guilt made her feel horribly sick to her stomach. 

She'd let Logan down! And why? //Because you're scared shitless// she condemned herself. He, who had sacrificed everything for her was now in the hands of their enemies. Because she'd run away. She'd run away again and now her friend would pay the cost. 

Rogue slid down the wall until she was on her knees. 

It was all her fault. If it wasn't for her, they wouldn't have been in that diner. If it wasn't for her selfish motives, Logan wouldn't be in danger. He, who'd claimed she was the most precious person to him. Why had she persuaded him to come here? Why –

Rogue's eyes flew open. It was as if a spark that had only smoldered faintly until now, suddenly flared up into a bright flame. Why hadn't she recognized it earlier? Rogue's own thoughts echoed in her mind and the young woman's lips parted soundlessly.

..._she said something about...taking the ones I value most_...

_..._ _He, who'd claimed she was the most precious person to him..._

..._most precious_...

..._it's all precious_...

Rogue felt her blood freeze. Logan had thought he would foil the Brotherhood's plans by sending her out of the diner. But they had been wrong all along!

It wasn't her they wanted.

pt. 8

A solemn jingling was the first thing he heard. Soft and silver it drifted towards his ears. It ebbed and neared in turns, like the sound of little chimes swaying in the wind. A cold but gentle wind breathing on an early winter's day, wasn't it? For a swift moment he saw a storm of snow railing past his eyes, instantly followed by the tinkling of a dozen tiny chimes. 

Logan concentrated hard to not lose the tones' trail and the clearer the jingling got the more he thought he heard little voices within it. So he listened even closer and finally heard them giggle and speak. He opened his eyes again. The wintry storm still howled and drove swarms of hovering snowflakes over the small clearing before him. As Logan blinked, he saw small shadows in the snowfall, dancing in circles over the crunching white lawn. The rhyme they sang was humble but moving and it was familiar to Logan. He'd almost started to hum the words with the playing children. The chorus whispered with the rustling of the wind, filling his ears as Logan surveyed his surroundings. 

His view grew clearer the longer he watched but still it was as if a dusty veil overlaid the scene. What he saw were trees of immense size surrounding the kids' natural courtyard and his glance was automatically drawn to a lonely cabin of dark wood. Snow was spread over the steps to the small porch and darkness was behind the grubby panes. Logan smelt dark green pine needles smoldering in the fire, the resin on the boards and the tar that sealed the grooves. And this fragrance too was familiar. There was one element of the mixture he knew even better – among the distinct odors of pine and smoke he discovered his own scent. It lingered in the wood and boards as if he had walked up the stairs and over the porch a hundred times. As if his hands had touched the rough balustrade over and over. He almost felt the warm bark pressing against his palms. 

The clouded combination of smells and physical experiences made the picture Logan looked at familiar. A part of him insisted that he belonged here like the trees belonged to the yard, yet Logan had no idea where he was. 

He saw the windowframe, warped by the cold weather. If he lifted his hand, he could reach the cracked wood and feel it below his fingertips. He backed away and looked down the porch. 

Had he been there? Had he really?

There was a work of leather strings and feathers dangling from the porch's roof. Small bars of metal swung lazily this way and that way, finding a solemn dance in the rocking wind.

...back and forth...

...back and forth...

...snow fell heavily...

Logan squeezed his eyes shut as the view became blurred, but then when he tried to open them again he could hardly even manage to blink. His lids wouldn't obey him and all he could see was a gloomy swirl of colors in front of him. The snow was gone, too, it was as if he had slipped into another reality.

He turned his head slowly to one side. Blue and gray shadows mingled before him, but he thought he saw the outlines of a darkened room surrounding him.

Then he heard it again. The soft jingling coming from somewhere nearby. Logan furrowed his brows and tried to regain access to his senses again. Slowly, the forms around him grew clearer. There was a table, he could see, and some shiny things – bottles? – were placed on it. Someone's hands were shuffling around the stuff and every time the bottles hit each other, they made a jingling sound. 

Logan wanted to speak, but to his surprise he found he didn't know how to do it. It felt like he had no control over his body and limbs. Logan narrowed his weak eyes and focused them on the figure behind the table. He must find out who that was. Must find out why he couldn't move. With distraught he felt a small itch in his neck and shifted so he could look up. Where the ceiling was supposed to be, colors and forms intertwined in one grayish maelstrom and he was not able to prevent it. One last time Logan heard the glassy twinkling before his head rolled aside and he blacked out. 

~~~

The diner was deserted, one could see through the broken pane of the former glass facade. Shadows darkened the place and one of the huge palms had been knocked over. Gloomy light streamed through the empty frame, emanating from a metal gray sky spreading over the docks. An evening wind howled over the promenade drifting from the sea like a heavy breath, it had grown so cold. 

The lake of glassy shards tinkled under her shoes. As she turned around she saw nothing but empty asphalt, the horrible moment when dozens of guests had stumbled out the diner's wide door seemed to be centuries ago. They were all gone and so were the fighters. There was not so much as patches of blood left. 

"Oh, no..." she breathed. Staring numbly at the sparkling glass beneath her, Rogue lifted one shaking hand up to her still hurting shoulder. What had she expected? That they would wait for her until she decided to regret her flight? 

Despair sunk down on her heavily, erasing whatever hope she had. The question was where they had taken Logan, but Rogue had neither an answer nor could she search for one. All she felt was emptiness, absolute and pure. 

Sirens had started to wail in the far distance and Rogue turned. When the police came , what should she tell them? Please, Officer, come and help my mutant friend. We got caught by our fiercest enemies, you know. Hopeless tears ran down her cheeks. The notion of the strong and invincible men in uniform belonged to another dimension by now. In her world no policeman would be a glorious guardian. The reality she had to live in held heroes as dark as the daemons they fought. 

She backed away, starting to choke, because that seemed to be the only reasonable thing to her. She heard the crystal dust crunch beneath her feet and then, as she listened closer, she noticed steps belonging to another person. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Once more she turned around and felt all strength fleeing her limbs. 

Sabretooth's dark eyes settled on her as his hair fluttered in a sudden gust. The furry rags that clothed him made him look even more brutish than he already was. He idly bared his teeth and folded his paws in what looked like an absurd gesture of praying. 

Knowing it was useless, Rogue tried a weak step backwards while she pressed one gloved hand tight over her mouth.

"You're too easy," Sabretooth smiled as he finally reached for her. 

The second attempt at consciousness was followed by a sharp pain stinging behind his temples. Logan moaned deeply, his throat feeling awfully dry and raw. Not willing to give into another faint he clenched his teeth and cursed the raging headache that tried to block his senses. The determined movement was more than his maltreated body could bear and for a desperate moment the fogs were closing in on him again. 

//Steady// he soothed himself. 

Concluding it was best to not rush things, he focused his concentration on inward circulation. His pulse was racing, but that was one thing he could easily take care off. So he followed his breath streaming in and out of his chest, finding a constant rhythm. At least this time patience paid off and the chaos inside his head eased. Finally he managed to force his eyes open and after another short blink, his view grew clearer. The first thing he noted was that there must have been a change of location since the last time he remembered being conscious. He had no idea what he had missed by now, he could only presume that he had been out for a couple of hours or so.

Hell, his head was spinning. 

A soft, almost inaudible growl left his lips as he shifted his head. The clouds and sky had been replaced by a metallic ceiling and the dusty light told him there were no windows in here, wherever this _here_ might be. A soft tingling in his neck was the next thing he became aware of. The sensation of several other sources of pain in various places woke with that, but this at least meant he was alive. Logan swallowed to get the disgusting taste of old blood out of his mouth. 

It was time to find out how bad his situation was. 

As he shifted his head to look to his left he discovered that his wrist was tied to whatever he lay on with a metallic cuff. A glance to his right showed him that it was the same way with his other arm. He presumed the shackles had not been constructed to be broken but he tried a few fierce pulls nonetheless. Useless, as he had thought. He managed to lift his head enough to have a look at his legs. Both ankles had the same nice and unbreakable decoration. 

Well then, this situation could be a little worse than the many other times he had been in trouble. 

Logan leaned back and relaxed his limbs. He was reasonable enough to know that for the moment anything he could do would cause him nothing but unnecessary strain. Maybe when he had regained his full strength there would be more possibilities. Although being patient was not exactly one of his strong points, Logan seized the moment to gain information. The unnerving pain behind his forehead made it difficult for his heightened senses, but fortunately Logan felt them slowly but surely return. 

Good. That was something.

He took another glance at the ceiling above. There was something strange about it and the heavy girder that supported the whole construction made him frown. It also seemed from the constant squeaking around him, that there was movement in the riveted metal sheets of the walls. However, since Logan already felt like the whole world was twisting and shaking around him, that was difficult to confirm. He swallowed again when something else caught his attention. Out of the corner of his eye he saw someone move and as he turned to look, he saw Mystique with her back towards him. Instantly his eyes narrowed into angry slits and he felt his claws knock invitingly against his skin. Would there be no end of the two of them? As if she had felt his glare, the blue female turned around and smiled at him. 

"Awake I see," she said satisfied, "I was getting bored, anyway."

He scowled at her, using the pain to reinforce his hatred. Wait until I'm out of those pretty bracelets, he thought.

"How does it feel? Being tied..." she asked and stressed the last word with passionate enjoyment, "...being captured? Do you like it? Oh, of course you don't. But that's the fun in it, isn't it?" She bent her head to one side and watched him like a cat with a mouse in a trap. "I hope you're enjoying yourself?"

"Yeah, I'm having quite a time, scaly toes," he said. 

Her smile broadened as she performed an elegant movement with her right hand. "I'm glad to hear that. We'll see how much wittiness there will be left in you when we're done." Lithely she approached him, never stopping to let her glance wander over his face and body. "So strong," she said and the next moment her hand was under his tee shirt, starting to slide over his skin towards his bare chest, "such a man. Maybe I want to play a little before we get started."

"Go and f..."

"Now, now. There's no need to get nasty, sweetheart." She bent her head to the other side and then looked up, distracted. "It's time we begin," she commanded, "make sure we won't be disturbed." 

Logan didn't really need to turn to see who Mystique was ordering around. One glance to his right confirmed Sabretooth hadn't failed to show up at the party. Logan furrowed his brows and tried to shift into a more comfortable position. Now, here he was, tied like a giant t to an examination table, with a dumb beast right and a scaly beauty left, not to forget that throbbing headache that topped any hangover he'd ever had – heck, this was one lousy day.

In the meager light of a neon tube he saw Sabretooth lowering on one knee and checking on a seemingly deep wound that stretched over the whole breadth of his upper arm. Logan felt a twinge of satisfaction amongst his anger. At least he had been able to return some of the kindness Sabretooth had granted him. The hairy hunk of a man shot another dissatisfied glance at his injury before he picked a shirt from the ground, that Logan easily recognized to be his. The sound of ripping cotton cut through the monotonous sound of the crunching metal walls around them. 

Slowly Sabretooth started to fix his wound with the strips of Logan's former shirt. Dark patches of blood quickly drenched the patterns. 

"That was my best shirt, bastard," Logan muttered. 

A couple of guttural, deep sounds, that could be taken as a laughter, came out of the tall mutant's throat. He finished the temporary bandage and stood up.

"You really think you'll still need it after this?" he scoffed. Smiling he released his pointed teeth and tossed the remnants of what once had been a shirt at his captive.

"Why don't you get me off this table and we finish our little romance off right here?" Logan growled. 

He imagined it, Logan could see it in his black, glowing eyes. Surely there was nothing he desired more than getting at Logan's neck without any cuffs or surgery tables. Unfortunately, Hairy, Tall and Ugly was not the brains of this outfit.

"You didn't get the point, I think," Mystique said from his other side. As Logan turned to face her, she stood next to a laboratory table, picking a little scalpel from a couple of other instruments. "This isn't going to be quick. Where would the thrill be if the game were over so soon? We'll do this slow, my dear, so you can enjoy it for a long time. A very long time."

Nervousness began to creep under Logan's skin. This was all very familiar, wasn't it? Tied and unable to move, a laboratory and someone with a sharp blade. Ah, it cost him more than his warders probably imagined to hold the surging panic down. 

"Besides," Mystique went on, "we have another guest who wants to play with us." She smiled and looked over Logan towards the other side of the room. 

Her idly words sent a jolt through his whole being and made his very blood freeze. He spun around, sending a desperate prayer to any higher force that might listen and the same instant felt his heart stop. As Sabretooth stepped aside, Logan saw a small, motionless figure slumped in one of the room's corners. Pain cut hard through his still throbbing body as Logan recognized her. 

//Oh, girl...//

Slowly he turned his glance away from her, his heart aching at the mere sight. His surroundings started to twist faster once more and Logan cursed himself for his weakness. 

Sabretooth was there, looking down at him with pure pleasure, every fiber of his bulky frame seemed to enjoy the moment. Not for the first time Logan saw him through eyes that knew no human warmth. 

Everything had gone wrong. Where he should have found a home, he had only met his enemies. Where he had hoped to find friendship, he found the one person closest to him in mortal danger. The growing wrath and bitter disappointment was nothing new to him. Suddenly he realized that he wasn't surprised about the present scenario, not surprised at all. He'd always known that his life followed a road framed by violence and destruction. Why should this ever change? Now it struck him as funny that he'd thought he could find peace at Xavier's place. 

"What have you done to her?" he growled.

"Nothing serious – not yet." The smile departing Sabretooth's features was more than gleeful. 

Anger built up inside Logan like a white flame. The frustration, the self blame and the guilt he had been struck with throughout the last months, it all bundled up in Sabretooth's blunt face, which was nothing but a grotesque imitation of human features. 

Finally, Logan understood everything. At last there would be no peace, not for him. The only fulfillment he knew was when he found himself in that one, single spot, where everything was calm and he was surrounded only by raging, white fury. Everything else was mere self-deception. He could not be a loving man. It was his nature to destroy what he loved and there always would be someone like Sabretooth, helping him to eradicate the people who had trusted him.

And if lethal violence was all he was made of, why not give into it?

Now he returned Sabretooth's glance with steady forcefulness. 

"You're a dead man," Logan said quietly. Clenching his fists, he flexed his muscles and forced them against the cuffs, while his face deformed into a stiff mask of hatred. Mystique's laughter came from behind him and Sabretooth exposed his fangs to create something like a grin. The shackles didn't move an inch. Meanwhile the heavy metal inside his flesh pressed hard against Logan's bones and nerves, causing a pain that exceeded any other hurt. Pulling harder at the cuffs, his arms came off the table, while the skin around the chains' edges grew extremely white. 

The next moment he had the furry paw of Sabretooth around his throat, pinning him fiercely to the table and squashing him a little harder than necessary. Logan let his limbs sink down again, his chest rising and falling in exhaustion, and stared up to his enemy. //Finish me now// he thought, his whole body tense and hot with rage //or I'll make you wish you had// His throat instinctively gave way to a deep growl as his upper lip screwed up and exposed his teeth for a split second. With sweet satisfaction he noticed that Sabretooth actually seemed somewhat taken aback as he met the seething spark in the eyes below him. 

"Must be a real joy to have me in one of your traps again," Logan grunted. 

"Indeed it is," Mystique agreed from his side, "But you must acknowledge the strain it took us to prepare this. It had to be sly and simple enough to fool you."

With an reluctant wince Sabretooth let go off Logan's throat and stepped back. It obviously was hard for him to suppress the subtle urges rumbling in his guts. Frowning until it looked as if every line was brutally carved into his features, Sabretooth spun around and started to slouch along the chamber. 

"The letter..." Logan said quietly, turning his gaze from the trudging man to Mystique.

"Faked," Mystique nodded, "That was an easy one."

Eventually Logan felt all the pieces click into their right places. How stupid had he been to miss this open intrigue. By blindly following an intercepted letter he had done exactly what this dynamic duo had wished him to do. He had actually walked straight into their ready handcuffs, worse, he had endangered a girl who could have been safe in a protected mansion. He'd grown soft indeed... .

Logan closed his eyes and dived back into his halls of not caring. For a grateful minute, there was nothing but cool nothingness. But then his senses betrayed him again and he smelt the sweet fragrance of _her_ perfume. Her presence broke through his cold walls and fluttered like a shiny butterfly through the darkness behind his lids. 

He tried desperately to make the little light she'd left inside him disappear and struggled to get back to the point of mere anger. He had allowed weakness to touch him and it had brought them here. If there was a chance for them, he had to succeed now. But there was her scent and he almost felt her, felt her so deeply. He could not lock her out and he could not ignore the fear for her.

He clenched his teeth - what was his rage good for, when it was veiled by the fear for her. As he opened his eyes, he saw her again, her small frame almost fusing with the shadows. She shouldn't be here. Logan accepted that he was to receive more than a little torment from Magneto's creatures, but the girl... . 

"You don't need her to get me," he said roughly. He knew it was useless, but he had to try. At the other end of the room he knew her laying still, her slender shoulders slumped forward in an awfully helpless gesture. He could no longer gauge the hurt it caused him. Hell, it shouldn't be that way. He should find strength in having no emotions, but as hard as he tried, he was not able to block his feelings. 

Meanwhile Mystique simply shook her head and examined another instrument on her surgery tray. "As you might have noticed," she said, "we already have you. And the girl is a sweet, though unexpected, premium."

Logan pricked up his ears. Now, that speech was truly bewildering. For the first time it occurred to him that he probably had missed something. But what the hell could that be? Back at the diner he had hoped that the mutant duo's purpose had been smashed by the girl's escape. But they had caught her all the same and he had been sure that he had literally helped the Brotherhood with their plans. It had started to drive him out of his mind. Now this blue skinned creature was indicating that they never even planned to capture her?

His confusion must have shown on his face , because Mystique hesitated. "You thought we wanted her?" she said, truly surprised. Then a smile lightened her face: "Honey, we never intended to get her. She's just a nice detail."

With that, the confusion was perfect. It made Logan even forget his inward chaos for a swift moment. So if it was not Rogue they wanted, what the hell were they up to?

"All we wanted was you," Mystique interrupted his speculations with her answer, "We'll take what you love was what I said," she went on, "And what do you value more than anything else?" While she was speaking, she opened one of the ampoules. The plastic lid hit the floor with a clatter. 

"See, we know you," Mystique said indifferently, "Your little trip up north was time enough to gain some information." She cast a swift glance at his tags and showed him a cool smile. "Logan. The wolverine. Lost in a life without a beginning."

Her words seeped into his tissue, making his nerves tickle and his body growing instantly cold. All his senses were on alert. It was like a faceless threat was creeping up the backdoor, leaving neither a chance to turn nor to truly prepare for what was coming. 

"How did it feel?" Mystique inquired, low voiced, "to wake up one morning, not knowing who you are and where you came from?" Again she bent her head to one side and searched to catch his eye. "It must be very hard to not remember your past. Who your mother was. Not to know when you were born at all." She turned back to the table, ripping a small plastic bag open. When she faced Logan again, a thin syringe had appeared in her left hand. Carefully she pushed the needle into the plug that sealed the ampoule she had prepared earlier. "But nowadays it's not so bad anymore, is it? You've picked up some friends, one little pet that admires you and a new home. Maybe they could all become your family? Would you want that? Just imagine the cozy feeling of being with people you know instead of existing between strangers. You've already begun to show emotions, haven't you? And they welcome what you are...want you to be part of their community. Think of that." 

With careful concentration she pulled the liquid out of the ampoule into the syringe. When the small glass tube was filled, Mystique removed the syringe with undiminished caution. Her yellow eyes sparkled as she turned to Logan again. "And now think of how it would feel to lose it all again," she whispered. With delight she watched her captive stiffening. 

As she drew closer, Mystique's voice changed from the ostensible small-talk into cool information. "This chemical ," she explained holding up the syringe, "goes straight to the brain and eliminates the centers that are relevant for the human memory." She smiled. "You can say it erases all your memories."

Cold sweat had started to run down his back and sides as Logan stared at the approaching woman. Her moves were like the flowing tide, the gloomy light swept around her like greasy mist. It was such an unholy sight. The syringe sparkled ghost - like in her hand. 

//No// Logan thought with growing horror, //No, not this// 

Forgotten was all the hatred against his enemies. The seething rage had disappeared like a blown out candle-flame. All his emotions, even the fear for his friend, had been replaced by a greater, nameless dread that extinguished every thought inside his mind. Before he knew it, his muscles were struggling terrified against the chains, his wrists tearing at the handcuffs. But although his body writhed in sheer panic, the weak voice of his reasonable mind already knew that there was no escape. One blue hand grasped his upper arm and pressed it down on the table. No longer able to will his limbs to move, Logan followed as Mystique put the syringe to the crook of his arm. He winced and froze when her features suddenly were overlaid by a masked face clothed in a green hood. It was then that Logan's eyes opened wide and his heart sped up its rhythm. Finally he was back in his nightmare, but this time he would not wake up. In paralysis he watched as the needle slowly sank into his flesh. 

pt. 9

_The docks_...

The black Mercedes plowed through the slushy snow and came to a halt with slightly skidding tires. After the softly humming motor came to rest, silence extended over the deserted street. 

The driver's door swung open and Scott got out of the car, his visor gleaming in the evening twilight. His gaze fell on the black machine that stood at the edge of the parking lot, immediately. Another waft of annoyance ran through his head as he saw his precious motorcycle – and the empty lot with not the slightest sign of either Rogue or Logan. Scott looked up at the roof of the harbor's buildings and tried to calm down. 

The sun had recently disappeared behind the curtain of dark clouds and the only light was the unnatural shimmer reflected by the remnants of snow on the asphalt. The sky looked threatening in its wintry colors. The cold wind riffled through his hair and tugged impatiently at his jacket. Scott buttoned it resignedly. Ororo stepped behind him and her worried look rested on the motorcycle. 

"Where do you think they are?" she asked.

"Somewhere around," Scott said miserably. For a moment they just stared at the lonely vehicle a few meters away. If they were lucky, they'd find them hanging out in one of the harbor's diners or bars and if so, Scott would give dear Logan a beating he'd never forget. To hell with the conscientious leader guidelines. Scott had to clench his teeth to not growl in disappointment. With bitterness he noticed his hands had curled into tight fists. Carefully he willed his knuckles to relax. 

It would have been easier if he didn't care. A lovesick teenager and one ignorant furball... . He felt responsible for them even if they neither knew nor wished for it. 

Sighing, he shook his head. Why had they brought themselves into danger? God, they should have known better, both of them. 

"Okay then," Scott said at last, "let's split up." He tapped the little communicator attached to his ear. "We'll stay in contact."

Ororo tried a confident smile, but failed before the team's leader turned. 

~~~

Carefully, Mystique tapped the syringe with her finger and a droplet of clear liquid appeared at the needle's point. 

As she turned to the table again, the bound man was already blacked out. His broad frame was shivering uncontrollably and sweat beaded his brow. 

Apparently, he was suffering. With a satisfied smile Mystique returned her attention to the syringe. 

"His healing powers fight the drug," she explained, "but I think a second dose will do. Don't you?" She turned slightly. A deep growl emerged from the shadowed far end of the room. Out of the corner of her eye she watched as Sabretooth came closer. 

The light was faint in the cabin, casting grotesque shadows on the metal floor, distorting any outline. The neon glimmer was painting pale highlights on the tall mutant's darkened face. His small eyes were the only thing bright in the dark. 

"I don't see why we can't just kill him," Sabretooth growled with a ravenous stare at their captive.

"That's because you're stupid," Mystique snapped and whirled around fully. Her eyes were flashing and Sabretooth took one step back in spite of himself. He knew the different sorts of enemies and how to fight them, but insanity was a dangerous opponent. One you had to fear. Better to not set a dangerous ally against oneself. 

Mystique meanwhile looked at him with inquiring eyes. "Dying would be too low a price," she said coldly, "much too low." Sabretooth growled uneasily and looked away. Mystique watched him for another second then turned slowly. Below her, Logan's lids were fluttering like captured butterflies and she could see his fingers flex in agony. 

"His pain won't leave him for a long time," Mystique said quietly, "He will taste what it's like to be alone, a prisoner of his own body." One hand reached out and touched Logan's shoulder. He writhed in his shackles and Mystique drew back. 

"He is just like them, you know," she said to no one in particular, "one who lives a life where we have to fight isolation. And banishment." 

Almost in slow motion Mystique bent down and brought her mouth to Logan's ear. Another spasm ran through his body and a painful moan escaped his dry lips. 

"Hush, love," Mystique whispered, "everything will be fine." Tenderly she brushed sweaty hair off his forehead and stroked his temples. Lost in her own thoughts she let her gaze wander over his face and then back to her right hand. 

"He is one of those who don't accept us," she went on in a distant voice, "One of those who always traps us." Her blank eyes were fixed on the syringe in her hand. Reflections of light danced on the needle and caught on her face. 

"They don't care for us," she said surprisingly soft, "we're outsiders, even to them. Even to our brothers. Eric was right." For a moment, it seemed like sadness overlaid her features. But the next second the fleeting expression was gone. 

Remembering herself, Mystique straightened up. 

"We wait another minute," she said, composed and cold once more, "his body will be ready then." 

Without reluctance she turned her back to the table and stepped into the shadows. 

~~~

Sabretooth circled the table restlessly. The scent of pain and blood was setting his instincts on fire. Growling beneath his breath he darted another burning glance at their captive's ashen face. 

Torture - the word disgusted him. Mystique might like it neat and slow, all he wanted was a kill. Make an end. Easy as that. 

He grumbled unsatisfied. Let him live with it,' she had said, let him feel the endless pain. Leave him to despair.' Her eyes had been full of glee and he'd recognized her enjoyment as something far beyond the natural. He approved of that. What he didn't approve of was the waiting. He couldn't get anything out of voyeurism, as she called it. 

When he has lost everything – his faith, his hope, his very self – then the time has come,' she had said, then you're going to kill him.' At least it was a promise. Sabretooth had stopped at the foot of the table, looking down on the shaking body that was losing its strength rapidly.

We'll make him see that nothing in his miserable life has ever been good,' her words echoed in his head, We will watch him degenerate to a being without a soul.' Sabretooth crossed his arms in front of his massive chest. The wolverine would be damned to walk through eternal hell, that much he understood. Maybe it would be satisfying to watch that. Maybe. 

Rapt in his imagination and need, Sabretooth watched the captured man below him. He didn't even notice the faint movement behind his back.

~~~

Rogue drifted into consciousness, where she was greeted by a terrible headache. Uttering a painful moan, she opened her eyes. Strands of heavy chestnut and white hair blurred her sight. With a hand that seemed much too awkward, she brushed them aside. A moment later she wished she hadn't.

Although she couldn't tell how long she'd been out cold, Rogue remembered every bit of what had happened. The faint had not clouded her senses completely, she knew exactly what was awaiting her. As she looked up, her conclusion proved to be right. In the fluorescent light, the young woman could see the bulking frame of Sabretooth. His mane shimmered unnaturally in the half gloom. Rogue felt her throat tighten. The lean figure of Mystique moving in the more distant shadows of the room was no surprise, either. Once again the feeling of being stuck in a nightmare was very strong, but there was no doubt in the reality of the moment. Rogue swallowed hard. Half covered by Sabretooth, she saw Logan laying on a table. He was silent and didn't move while the two other mutants watched him with dark, gleaming eyes. Rogue felt her heart sink. So they had won, after all. 

She closed her eyes and sank back to the floor. She half wished for the returning of unconsciousness, longing to surrender to the darkness. But she wasn't given any mercy, and this time she could not flee. Rogue drew her legs close to her body and curled up as tight as she could. Fear and pain convulsed inside of her, and she was filled with desperation. Taking advantage of the inner confusion, the inhabitants of her head saw a chance to make themselves noticed. Rogue felt it coming but had now way to stop it in time. The many voices were spinning in her head, buzzing around like an angry swarm of bees/wasps, each of them demanding to be heard. They wouldn't let her go and what they spoke turned into a swirling, senseless pandemonium. 

... _stab him ... oh, be careful ... you know you're doing wrong, child ... I want to be out of here ... go and STAB him ... everything went wrong ... I'm in the wrong place ... I want ... she's weak ... she must be ... no, I want ... a prison's better than a grave ... where do you think you're going? ... Want you ... but maybe_ ...

Rogue covered her ears with her hands as if this could stop them. The noise grew louder, climbing to an awful crescendo, filling her head until she couldn't stand it. Finally she assembled all her strength and yelled at them with ferocious despair. 

//STOP IT!//

The echo of her mind's cry thundered behind her forehead. All at once, there was silence. They weren't gone, Rogue felt them wait uneasily in the background, but at least they spared her their chatter . Slowly she got her breath back and her stiffened limbs relaxed. For a moment, she even forgot where she was and in the inner silence, which was so precious and relieving to her, she found herself a little less shaken. Eventually, Rogue dared open her eyes. The scenario hadn't changed. She couldn't see much more of Logan than his denim-clad legs, but she heard his heavy breathing. 

So they were already at him. Rogue could only guess what they were doing to him, but she knew what they wanted. To take what he valued most ... how naive of her to believe she would be what they meant. Of course not. His life had been too long and wild to make someone like her something special to him. She was only one of many faces. Memories were what made Logan. He collected them like another would collect stamps. Those pieces of his past were the only real thing he owned and therefore his most precious possession. Now Mystique and Sabretooth would take them from him. They'd leave him empty and painfully alone. 

Rogue averted her eyes from them. Would there be no end to the hopelessness and disappointment? 

With one last hint of childlike confidence she wished for a beacon of hope to show the way but with the disillusionment of a grown-up she knew there would be none. Was the future nothing but fear, loss and pain? Then every promise in her whole life had been a lie. For the first time since she'd run away she didn't feel sad, but angry at the thought. An unknown fury that pulsed deep down inside of her finally broke free. 

Was she really meant to endure whatever crap life threw at her?

The anger was overwhelming,, everything else washed away by pure frustration. Why did this happen to them? What had they done to deserve a torture like this? She'd had a normal life, and Logan, well, he probably had, too. It had all been taken away from them. And for what reason? Fate was playing with them. Again and again it offered them chances to start anew, but every time they were on their way to get things right, oh, here you go, another catastrophe. It was so damned unfair!

Clenching her teeth, Rogue slowly rose from the floor. Sabretooth's broad back still blocked her view of Logan's face, but the sight didn't affect her anymore. She was so tired of being afraid. She didn't want to hide from the voices in her head anymore. They could yell her down or drive her crazy for all she cared. Rogue had had enough of being pushed around and trampled on. Life was good for nothing. All it ever did was spit right in her face. 

With her movements, the pain in her shoulder returned, forcing tears into her eyes and increasing her frustration. 

//I want a life// she thought. Hell, she wanted all that silly stuff people dreamed of: small houses at the seaside, ice-cream on a sunny day and slow dances under the stars. //I want to feel and be free. I want to be loved.// 

The room tried to swim out of focus, but still she knew where to go. Mystique and Sabretooth were less than shadows in her frenzy. 

//You won't deny me anything.// 

It didn't matter if they were stronger. They wanted to destroy one of the few good things in her life. With a shaking hand, she undid her gloves. The fabric slid to the ground unnoticed and without a sound. No, she wouldn't let them hurt the man she loved. Her love for him was all that still belonged to her. 

And no way would she let them have that, too. 

Grinding her teeth, Rogue straightened up and willed her legs to carry her. Her eyes chose the tall frame of Sabretooth as her goal. She wasn't sure what she was going to do until she was moving. 

Then, the anger inside of her bundled up into a tight white ball and the Logan inside her head began to applaud. Two silent steps brought her close enough to smell his fur. 

Forgetting about everything around her, Rogue threw herself against Sabretooth and before he could even react, pressed her bare palms onto his temples. 

"Leave him alone!" she cried, her voice cracking. He was shaking violently, but the more he tried to shake her off, the tighter she clung to him. Using her legs to hold on, Rogue squeezed her eyes shut. The intrusion of his life energy and feelings was more painful than any other link she'd experienced before. It cut into her head and set her mind ablaze. She felt his wrath and disbelief, felt him fight her ferociously. 

Over and over he tried to get rid of her, struggled against her, roared tremendously. None of it saved him in the end. Sabretooth realized he was about to lose. 

Through their bond Rogue felt him weaken, so she held on even tighter, stealing all his power from him and sucking out his life force. Her hands were like molten iron on his leathery skin. 

It didn't take long until he could no longer fight her and the huge hunk of a man faltered and fell. His enormous body hit the ground with a thud, followed by a deafening silence. Numbly, Rogue slid off his back, staring down at her victim with blank eyes. She didn't really see the blue shadow appearing next to her, but her new instincts reacted in no time. One arm flung out and hit Mystique before she could even touch the young woman. A shriek was pressed out of her throat before the blue mutant was smashed against the cabin's wall. The red-haired woman slid to the ground and came to rest there. A small rivulet of blood trickled down her forehead, Rogue could smell it like it was a heavy perfume. 

It all happened so fast. Rogue choked the enticing taste of anxiety and swallowed. The anger still smoldered inside her, but it had lost some of its edginess and had grown muted . Like a heavy layer, it covered every thought. 

Numbly she looked up, seeing the room had somehow changed its consistency. It looked more real' in a way she couldn't quite explain. All the outlines had become sharper, the darkness didn't impair her powers of vision anymore, and even in the shadowed corners of the cabin she could recognize every shape and detail. 

Slowly her glance was drawn down to the captive below her. Flickers danced on the metal cuffs, as if in silent request. She walked to the foot of the table and placed her hands on the cuff around his left ankle. Furrowing her brow she grasped firmly and then pulled. The metal broke like a toothpick between her fingers. Seeing it was no particular problem, Rogue circled the table and undid the three other cuffs, until the unconscious man lay free of his shackles. 

That work done, the young woman remained at Logan's side and looked thoughtfully down at him. He was so beautiful. There was strength in every length and breadth of his body. She sensed the wildness of him and it made her nerves tingle . His throat lay exposed. 

Slowly, her hand stretched out towards him. 

The vulnerability was enticing. She longed to feel the strong beat of his pulse beneath her palm. The desire to press until the blood stopped increased to sheer ecstasy. 

Finally, her enemy was all hers. 

Rogue's hand neared Logan's unprotected throat. 

//What are you doing?// The firm voice cut through the crimson haze Sabretooth's essence had laid over her mind. 

Frozen to the spot, Rogue's eyes widened at what she'd almost done. Quickly she withdrew her hand. One more second and her bare skin would have come in contact with Logan. An angry howl emerged from the Sabretooth inside her as he tried to come to the fore . Rogue pushed him away. 

//Go away// she snapped coldly with the same firm voice she knew was her own. Silence followed and all the pestering voices were safely locked away. 

A deep sigh of relief escaped Rogue's lips. She waited another second to be sure everything in her head was in order, then she lifted a hand and pushed a lock of white hair out of her face. Only now did she realize she was trembling. 

//Not now,// she ordered herself sternly. She had to finish this. Once more she reached for Logan, only this time she touched his shirt. 

"Logan?" she called , not sure if she could trust her weak voice. Carefully, she shook him. "Logan? Please, wake up." 

A tremor ran through his limp body and air flooded into his lungs in an immense breath. It almost choked him. Coughing, his eyes flew open and instant panic grabbed him. He writhed in pain and almost fell off the table. 

"Shh," Rogue soothed him quickly, shocked by his sudden movement. As best as she could, she helped him lay back. "Shh," she whispered again, "it's me, Logan, it's me." Sudden uncertainty made her bite her lip. "Do you know who I am?"

His weakness didn't allow him to answer, but he relaxed under her hands and she thought she saw recognition in his eyes.

"We have to get out of here," she said, strictly avoiding a glance at the two fallen mutants behind her. 

She helped him up and slid under his arm. "I'll help you, but you have to help me, too, okay?" She felt his grip on her shoulder tighten. Then he shoved his legs off the table and the pair started to limp across the cabin. Careful to not let him touch her skin, Rogue supported him. His frame weighed heavy on her shoulders but somehow they made it to the exit. A narrow stairway led up to an open door, and Rogue could see dark patches of a night sky. 

Their freedom was only a few meters away. Too late, she heard moaning behind her , and out of the blue a hand clawed her shoulder and made her stumble. She lost contact with Logan and as she whirled around, Mystique's bare hand struck her in the face. 

"He's mine!" the blue mutant cried with a hiss and grabbed Logan's arm. Her shoulder blades showed as she pulled him around and hurled him into the surgery table. Rogue reached her hand out to him but never made it. Mystique swept down on her with blazing eyes, her face shining with blood. In a desperate attempt, Rogue kicked out at Mystique's thigh and succeeded. With a furious shriek the woman grabbed Rogue's shoulders, her nails digging painfully through cloth into skin. 

Rogue would never be able remember exactly what happened then. Before they knew it a shadow appeared behind Mystique and Logan pulled her back. They both tumbled to the ground, but Logan quickly rolled on top. He tried to get up, but she grabbed his collar and forced him down. Silver metal flashed out of his fist and into her side, her terrible scream tearing through the air . She slumped and only a faint whimper emanated from her lips. Logan raised, swaying, his claws again hidden. He turned and walked with uneasy steps towards Rogue, who had wrapped her arms around herself and was staring at the fallen Mystique. As Logan reached her, their glances met. When he saw the fresh blood on her lips new pain appeared in his eyes. He lifted his hand, his fingertips reaching for her, stopping in mid-air near her face. His own knuckles were smeared with blood, and she saw his hand trembling, the fresh wounds painful in his diminished state. Swallowing hard, she assembled her wits and carefully slid under his arm again. He leaned on her, almost all his remaining strength shattered in this last fight. Rogue moistened her lips, tasting salty wetness on her tongue. She didn't know if she could bring Logan upstairs, but she did know there was no other choice. They couldn't stay here.

"Come on," she said softly and encouraged him with a small smile, "a few steps and it's done."

Rogue prepared her limbs for the climb and helped him lean on her a little more. Concentrating on setting one foot in front of the other, she dragged him upstairs. It would have been easier if she could have fallen back upon her newly adopted strength, but Rogue was afraid that if she allowed one part of Sabretooth to come up she wouldn't be able to reject him once more. So she pushed on. 

About half way up, they paused. The throbbing in Rogue's hurt shoulder side-tracked her. //Get a grip,// she ordered herself brusquely. Her arm had gone completely numb but she was determined to ignore it. 

Next to her, Logan was breathing flatly. Apparently, speaking was not an option for him and his face was just a pale shimmer below his tousled, black hair. Rogue's face set in firm lines. She wouldn't let him down twice. They would make it out of here even if she had to carry him the whole way. Assembling her strength, she craned her neck to have one last, short look down to where they'd come from. Over Logan's slumped shoulder she glanced down the corridor. The neon tube in the cabin below must have gone out because the end of the stairway disappeared in thick blackness. For a moment, Rogue let her gaze rest on it. Down there lay Mystique and Sabretooth. Whether they were dead or alive only God might know. Rogue blinked. She couldn't put her emotions in words, her thoughts were spinning much too fast and too uncontrolled. Yet there was composure, somehow. She left it behind. She left it all behind. 

Slowly, Rogue turned away and didn't look back again. 

~~~

It definitely was a ship. As Rogue reached the end of the stairway, she saw a broad deck and grubby planks. A soaring mast stood against the outlines of the harbor's skyline, and luckily they were still docked . Rogue sniffed and threw her hair back over her shoulder. In an instant, the sweat on her skin became a cold layer beneath her clothes. She lifted her eyes and peered over the deck. Thick clouds surged over the night sky beyond the rail and hid the horizon. The salty air of the sea had never tasted better. 

Rogue's face screwed up in pain as she gripped Logan's waist tighter and shoved him outside. The climb had lasted a small eternity, or so it seemed. But with the humid air and the sharp coldness, at least a part of the apprehension left her and she could breathe freely. Along with the relief, Rogue became aware of every hurting inch of her maltreated body. She'd never felt more tired. Fighting her exhaustion, Rogue began to look around for any way to get off the ship but saw none. No lights shone from the nearby docks, it felt as if the world was totally deserted. 

By willpower she took another couple of dragging steps with her load, their breath turned into vapor in the crisp cold.

It was no use. Rogue felt she was close to losing her last bit of stamina and Logan was farther gone . 

She wrangled with herself for another second then she gave in. Logan slid down her side and she sank to her knees beside him. All strength seemed to flee his body as he sunk limply against her. Helplessly, Rogue sat on the ground and tried to hold him up . Through the thin fabric of his tee shirt she felt him shudder. Carefully she shifted and he more or less slid into her lap. 

At first, she wasn't sure what to do, but finally she let go of all her doubts and enclosed him tightly within the circle of her arms. He literally huddled up inside her embrace and his own arms closed around her waist. 

All the tension in her body seeped away and Rogue felt like choking. She had no idea how to go on and found she didn't even have the strength to care. The whole weight of the past few hours began to sink down on her. All she wanted was to stay there and feel the warmth of his body. 

Above them, the clouds assembled in a tight knot and finally stopped moving. It began to snow.

The pair didn't even notice. Surrounded only by the silent observation of the sea, they formed a unity of their own. Rogue lifted a trembling hand and let strands of Logan's soft, dark hair glide through her fingers. Distantly she became aware that she was rocking him softly back and forth like a child. For the first time, he tried to speak, but all he managed was a hoarse whisper. To make it easier for him, Rogue bent forward and brought her ear close to his mouth. He moistened his lips and tried again. 

"Don't..."

She felt her breath stick in her throat at the sound of his voice. He kept his eyes closed and his words drifted against her sensitive skin like feathery snow. 

"Don't leave me..."

He brought his body closer, cuddling up in her warmth and burying his face near her heart beat. 

It left her speechless. Stunned, she remained where she was, her form shadowing the man in her arms. It was as if time began to freeze around her and in her veins. The blood on her lip had dried black.

"No, love," she whispered at last, "I'll never leave you." In her arms, Logan drifted off into unconsciousness. Tenderly she enclosed him with her body, tried to keep him warm and safe. Her tears fell like silver droplets and disappeared in the dark fabric of his shirt. She tenderly rested her cheek against his hair. Never in her whole life would she forget its silken texture. Then, she gave into her weariness. 

Little snowflakes danced down all around them, some of them catching in the couples' hair and clothes. Some of them fell on Rogue's white cheeks and melted on the already cooling skin. Snow was glistening on her lashes as she finally closed her eyes. 

Through shadows and a blur of blue and white she saw one last view of the deck. She thought she saw some swaying lights in the distance, but that, of course, couldn't be real. There were faint voices, calling names which should have been familiar. It seemed so unimportant to her. Already off to sleep, Rogue let go and snuggled against Logan.

Silence settled around them, the night seemed endless in its external wideness. Only the soundlessly falling snow moved in the blue and black of the moonlit night. A crystal layer began to coat the pair, unifying clothes, ivory skin and blood. Everything disappeared slowly in the cold and impersonal air. The blanket of clouds seemed to subside closer to the surface of the earth. The blackness of the ocean melted into the formless sky, and left alone, the illuminated snowflakes shimmered in the darkness. 

Finally, all was calm. The disquieting notion of a dark fortune was gone at last. It had left without so much as a whisper. It seemed as if it had taken all the demons with it. 

_finis_

Cold as the northern winds   
in December mornings   
Cold is the cry that rings   
from this far distant shore. 

(_lyric written by Roma Ryan_)

_Author's note: Thanks goes out to Mara, who guided me through all of this and opened my eyes more than once. I also thank eretria, who was with me from the beginning and shared my thoughts. _


End file.
